


My Dear Laurens

by ParadoxRocky



Category: Alexander Hamilton - Fandom, American Revolution RPF, John Laurens - Fandom, Lams - Fandom
Genre: Battle, Bottom Alexander Hamilton, F/F, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Gay Founding Fathers (Hamilton), Hurt/Comfort, Hurts So Good, Idiots in Love, LGBTQ Character, Lams - Freeform, Lesbian Maria Reynolds, Love at First Sight, M/M, Slow Burn, Top John Laurens, lesbian elizabeth "eliza" schuyler
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-28
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:34:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 33
Words: 110,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25863679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ParadoxRocky/pseuds/ParadoxRocky
Summary: George Washington recruits young men of great renown to work under him. Alongside Hercules Mulligan, Marquis de Lafayette, and John Laurens, he lengthens the list. Alexander Hamilton, a nineteen-year-old immigrant with a desire to achieve unreachable goals.While Hamilton may have his mind set on politics and war, his heart has a pair of golden eyes and dark, curly hair in its thoughts. Hamilton has a drive to succeed like no other, but his will to say no? Not so advanced.. . .Set where the musical began, and following the musical like a timeline. Basically, how I imagine Lams would have been able to occur in ”real life”.
Relationships: Alexander Hamilton/Elizabeth "Eliza" Schuyler, Alexander Hamilton/John Laurens, Maria Reynolds/Elizabeth "Eliza" Schuyler
Comments: 24
Kudos: 71





	1. A. Hamilton

Not far from the meeting place of a Mr. Aaron Burr and Alexander Hamilton, stood a tavern hosting lively characters where the ratio of a pint of ale to a man or woman was one to one. Three men took to a long, wooden table in the middle of the cramped bar room. One man had two empty pints of Sam Adams sitting in front of him, and a third clutched in his hand. Another, sitting to the right of the previous fellow, also held a pint in his hand and let his eyes follow the female company placed sporadically through the crowd. The final man shared the expected similarity of alcohol in his hand, and the overwhelming tendency to tip every which way with almost no concern for the possibility of his head meeting the hardwood floor. Other than the common usage of alcohol, the trio captured another commonality among them: a body clothed in a soldier's uniform. The color considered to be the most calming was the dye that had been chosen for these uniforms, for these men, for all soldiers fighting for the United States of America.

The three men conversed thoroughly and deeply about all of life's greatest questions and ever so problematic issues. Some that may seem familiar, like: how many women can I take into bed in one night? And, what would be the best way to abolish slavery? And, if this ale doesn't make me blackout, could you?

These questions were answered in the best way they could be answered. Later.

While drinks refilled and singing struck, two men stood just before the entrance of the alcohol-infused mass. Those two men, who had been previously mentioned as Aaron Burr and Alexander Hamilton, had their attention grasped by the three soldiers. One soldier drunkenly strung words together in quick succession in a type of rhythm uncommon in the music of that time.

His words rang just a little louder than the crowds' collective conversation.

He began with an inquiry, "What time is it?"

Which the appropriate reply chosen by his two friends was, "Showtime!"

Burr cut into Alexander's curiosity of the shouting group with three words, "Like I said."

A slightly bothered sigh fell through Burr's lips. He had formed an acquaintanceship with the trio, but nothing more than that which caused him to neither walk away nor step closer to the inebriated singers.

On a different note of a contrasting nature, Alexander's mind yearned for a taste of their energy. At the very least his feet desired a step closer. Nevertheless, his body remained. Next to Aaron Burr and his less than anticipated, insightful conversation.

Alexander was caught off guard by the man once asking about the time as he recognized Burr standing no more than two yards in front of him.

The dark-haired, freckle-adorned soldier spoke, "Well, if it ain't the prodigy of Princeton college."

The other two men turned their heads in a synchronized motion, and said, "Aaron Burr?"

"Laurens, Lafayette, Mulligan." Burr dipped his head in greeting,

Alexander watched how Burr matched a name to the slightest movement in his chin and his gaze. Alexander wanted to take advantage of every opportunity of this first impression. This is most likely why those minuscule twitches in Burr's eye contact were enough for Alexander to learn the names of the three men. Mulligan, a broad-chested, dark-skinned, cropped haired man whose head loomed over Alexander's. Lafayette, a slimmer, but just as tall man, with a complexion closer to that of bronze and thick, curly hair pulled into a ponytail.

‘Like mine,’ Alexander thought.

The final man was one that before he could not make out as well in the dim light, until now. The proximity between the men lessened, and as such Alexander's eyes studied Laurens' face with an intensity he would usually not apply in such a situation. Laurens had medium-brown eyes. One could describe them in a simple way, like so, or they could delve deeper into their details. Alexander chose the latter. If one were to look into his eyes for any longer than a glance, they would become hypnotized. Alexander found himself a naive fool staring into a crystal ball, awaiting his grandiose dreams to come true. In another sense, one could say that Laurens' eyes were more like the deepest part of sleep. Where dreams do not plague the mind, but instead there is nothing. Nothing but a stillness that runs through the soul. A quietness in the mind, that Alexander has never experienced before.

How could he? His life had never been a path that allowed breaks. It allowed nothing but constant movement, and more than that you could not survive in that life without it. But, standing here in front of Laurens? He defied the gods of impatience and cruelty that lived unwanted in his mind. They were silenced by a wave of cool water. Have you ever felt such a thing? The feeling of sweet release. Alexander dared not to think that he could ever feel anything better. This man could not be what he thought he was. What Alexander's best guess led him to was an angel. Is this possible? Alexander didn't know. He also didn't care. For once, he would set aside any cynical nature that had ever run through his veins and replaced it with a childlike wonder.

Alexander no longer stared into Laurens' sunlit, honest and kind eyes, but his nose. His nose was strong and straight. There was no dip or rise past the bridge of his nose, it was only smooth and what he suspected to be soft. If anyone's finger, perhaps even Alexander's, found its way gliding down the freckled hill, it would be greeted with a glass of wine and a passionately worded letter. Maybe that was unrealistic, but then again... childlike wonder.

So, Alexander had already shaken hands with Laurens' eyes and his nose, but what about the tender kiss? The lips of this man, he knew could not be disappointing. Nothing had ever sounded so impossible. Alexander was right. His lips framed a set of pearly, white teeth (that in a less lengthy matter of describing were simply perfect). They were pink, as one would expect, but of no ordinary kind. His bottom lip was slightly more vibrant in color than the above, but isn't that what makes them better? It is. Alexander saw the softness of his cupid's bow, the wideness of the smile, and the rays of warmth it radiated, but his mind had not only drifted to what he could see. His eyes were well enough assessors, yes. But, and not including his other, less important senses at the time, what of touch? Like Laurens' nose, he could imagine his fingers grazing the set of pink clouds or sweet, sugary candy. Candy that he couldn't help but think about pressing his lips to.

‘Not too forward,’ Alexander presumed. It was what any sane man would think of, anyway. But his lips had not the same amount of receiving ability as a close friend to his lips. Could his tongue not taste the electrifying, and wet, ample lips of another? He imagined it to be much like sticking one's tongue out when snow is falling. Like snow, as they are weightless and different from anyone else's. Their beauty had no worthy comparison. Pure and cleansing. Cleansing of maybe the soul, if they could be so powerful. That would be a blessing. But, Alexander knew that his tongue flicking Laurens' lips, even in a feather-like motion, would always result in more than that of meekness and innocence. It would progress. It would not solely be his tongue or his lips, but a compelling duo. He knew that would lead to more, but maybe he would save that thought for later. For a time when he was alone. After all, solitude is the most forgiving of companions.

And even though Alexander wanted to continue his wild thoughts about Laurens' lips, he had to restrain himself at least this once. He didn't have to do so when he thought about Laurens' face in its whole. Skin, loved by the sun. Loved more than Alexander's. While Alexander's face held no moles or marks of any kind, Laurens had a masterpiece of little brown raindrops scattered across his youthful skin. He was only what others could call a work of art. A painting that must have taken weeks, even months to finish with its complexity and magnetism.

Magnetism? What else did Alexander feel unwillingly attracted to by means of an invisible force? Alexander let his eyes further search the man, that he had now learned his first name. John. John Laurens. John Laurens that had a form that Alexander could spend all his days trying to fully understand. His body held taut muscle obviously worked and doing well under said pressure. His arms, which were long and granted with warrior-like strength, could easily wrap around Alexander and hold him. Or lift a horse, either one would be a sight to see. The length of his arms was indeed pleasing, but they led him on the scenic route to a pair of hands. Hands that were surprisingly unlike the rest of John Laurens' appearance. His palms were large. His palms were rough. He could almost feel that hand in his, or on... on any part of him, really.

His thoughts of Laurens' hands were interrupted by his thoughts of what Laurens might be thinking of him at this moment. Alexander realized time was moving slower than he expected it to. He thought he might be prodded by an elbow, and a confused stare courtesy of Burr. Possibly wondering why it had taken him so long to say something, but his thoughts were rising and falling so quickly that Burr was just replying to Laurens' statement, after Burr's greeting. Alexander found that this precious gift of time had been given to him for a reason, so he decided to continue to take advantage of it in the last seconds he had.

To return to Alexander's thoughts of Laurens's opinion of him, Alexander looked to Laurens' hands. Had he also imagined what it would be like take his solid and capable hands and graze Alexander's lips? Maybe the top and then the bottom, or the other way around? He wasn't sure. He hoped that Laurens had shared such an intense wonderment about him. That would only be fair, but...

Alexander's turn to give spoken word to the men had arrived. He remembered the cool banter between Laurens and Burr. Burr spouted some nonsense that proposed his future would set him far ahead and above the others, and Laurens wondered why the hesitation on Burr's side about the revolution. Alexander had to jump in.

His hands may still be wringing each other, but his step forward showed a welcome fraction of his competitive, ambitious personality.

He voiced his opinion.

"If you stand for nothing, Burr, what will you fall for?"


	2. J. Laurens

"Who are you?"

A load of scattered questions filled Alexander's consciousness, all sharing the same answer.

Alexander let his arms stand by his sides and said, "Alexander Hamilton."

His anxious eyes met the curiosity reflected in the body language of the three men. They didn't know what that name meant, or what it would mean. Alexander knew what it could mean, and he didn't waste any time telling them his ambitions.

Before anyone could say another word, Alexander answered any questions they may or may not have been inclined to ask. Alexander's words came out desperate and hungry. On his knees, begging the world to grant him his wishes. Telling these men that he was not just another voice to be heard and only half-listened to. He assessed that Laurens, Lafayette, and Mulligan would if they were intelligent enough, share the same aspirations as him.

One would think that Alexander fumbled through his endless words and sentences. Sentences that morphed into paragraphs, but he did not. Language formed into a rattling of knowledge and conviction.

Laurens was in a trance produced by Alexander's raptured speech. He honed in on Alexander's lips to analyze every fiercely delivered word to understand the depth of his desires. Laurens studied every grape hanging from Alexander's esoteric, infinite vine. Each delicate, purple fruit was a part of Alexander's whole. His mind and ultimately raging intellect.

Laurens knew at this moment that Alexander had seized a portion of his attention that would no longer belong to him. He didn't presume that Alexander had meant to do any of this. Because if he had, Alexander succeeded. He had succeeded in tearing the clothes off of everyone in that room and letting them try to cover their true selves with lies and elaborate stories. Alexander told them the truth in two parts. One, his name would long live in America's history, and two, he was a whirlpool that would devour everything he needed to survive and more.

As Laurens imagined himself bare, and defenseless, and raw in front of Alexander, he recognized a look that he had seen in himself before. A look he was stunned to see in Alexander's eyes. While Laurens may have expected Alexander to be a hard man, that was not the poetry his heart had written. Although the verse was well-hidden, Laurens swore he caught a glimpse of it. It was vulnerability. His heart was trying to scale a wall of stone. There were no cracks or crevices to place his hands and climb further, just a slick and unforgiving mountain. An impossible climb, yet his heart didn't seem to give up despite its many failures. It was sensitive, bruised, and in need of a friend. Laurens wanted to help.

It was then that Laurens realized how long Alexander had been talking.

Laurens leaned over to his friend, Lafayette, and asked, "Do you think he ever stops?"

To that, Lafayette whispered one word in his native language, "Non."

After the brief conversation, Laurens let his focus wander momentarily to the expressions on Mulligan's and Lafayette's faces. He wasn't at all surprised that they shared a look composed of wide eyes, raised eyebrows, and ever-so-slightly parted lips. Laurens couldn't hold in a small laugh at his awestruck friends. There wasn't much he did to try and hide his amusement other than dip his head down to the floor. For a split second, Alexander's monologue wavered. Laurens hoped it hadn't been caused by him.

It had.

Laurens quieted his humored mind and looked up at Alexander, who had reached a halt. Apparently, that was only due to the obligation of a normal breathing pattern. Lafayette took this moment to introduce himself to Alexander. Lafayette must have also seen potential in the nineteen-year-old future scholar, and Laurens guessed, wanted to show Alexander he wasn't alone in his devotion to change. However, before Lafayette began, he handed a pint to Alexander who took a drink along with the rest of the group. There were only four glasses, and Laurens wondered why they were not only missing one glass but one man as well. Even though Burr had disappeared for a reason unknown to Laurens, he didn't ponder for long. Laurens was still sitting down when Lafayette displayed his cause to the table (with only slightly slurred words).

"I dream of life without a monarchy. The unrest in France will lead to on-archy," he desisted, bewildered by his own statement. "On-archy?"

Lafayette turned to Mulligan using his close connection to his friend to wordlessly communicate a very simple question, "How the fuck do you say it?"

The corners of Mulligan's mouth raised.

He mouthed, "Anarchy."

Laurens watched the exchange with a smile. Lafayette relied on Mulligan an astonishing amount, and as suspected Mulligan never failed.

Lafayette recovered with only a thimble-sized amount of bilingual frustration.

"Oh," his voice transformed into an overly dramatic, quite nasal, American accent. "Aaan-archy."

In a foggy haze, Laurens had for sure not expected anyone, especially Alexander to be standing just inches away from him.

Alexander's orotund voice plummeted low and soft as he leaned toward Laurens' ear, and said, "Do you think he meant to rhyme?"

Laurens involuntarily shuddered at the startling closeness of the two.

He stuttered before the words tumbled out of his lips, "Um, I would usually say no, but when it comes to Lafayette you can never be sure."

Laurens discovered the courage to face Alexander. Their eyes met, and Laurens sucked in a breath. Alexander waited patiently for Laurens to speak.

"Don't you have those moments where you rhyme without meaning to?"

Alexander tilted his head to the side and reflected on every conversation he had participated in. Laurens knew his answer had to be yes because his previous rhetoric had rhymed many times. It created a sort of singsong characteristic to Alexander's diction.

"Every once in a while."

Alexander smiled. His smile was broad and sincere. Laurens reflected the smile lazily as if mirroring Alexander's actions would sustain his innocent warm-heartedness.

Laurens gazed into Alexander's deep and soulful eyes. Laurens lingered. Could moonlight be swimming inside his pupils, or was Laurens only seeing what he wanted to see? Whether dream or reality, Laurens basked in it. He begged Alexander, ‘don't blink.’ ‘Don't look away. I'm only asking for a few more seconds.’

But because those thoughts were only thoughts, Alexander blinked and looked away. An untimely distraction produced by the boisterous Lafayette.

Alexander finished his drink with a single gulp and slammed it onto the table creating a disrupting note that drew the attention of the group.

"Are you a good fighter, Lafayette?"

Alexander placed his hands on the table, causing him to lean forward awkwardly. Laurens proposed Alexander was starting to feel the effects of alcohol and took a step forward in case anything was to happen.

Lafayette scoffed at Alexander's question and waved his hand around in an "I'm about to convince you of something you probably didn't expect," type of manner, but it really came off like, "I might fall over right now, but not before I say... something? I think I was planning on saying something."

"When I fight, I make the other side... You should see them, they can't- can't handle me. They panic, all panicky." He took a hefty breath and let his eyes roam around the room before settling on Mulligan, "Mon Dieu, what am I saying?"

His scattered behavior resulted in a collection of laughter that filled the emptying bar room. Laurens glanced at Alexander to see if he felt just as entertained by his friend's antics. He made eye contact with Alexander again, and Alexander swiftly looked elsewhere. Laurens was disappointed, but his spirits flew when a round of shots found their way around the table, into the hands of the four, and promptly swallowed.

At this time, no individual sat at the table. No more than a knee propped up on the wooden platform; Lafayette was the sole participant.

Laurens watched Alexander's head crane toward Mulligan.

Alexander hummed and phrased another question, "And you? What's your story?"

Mulligan brought an arm around Lafayette's shoulder when he noticed Lafayette begin a steady collapse to the floor. In that position, Mulligan's arm persisted for Lafayette's well-being.

"I'm a tailor's apprentice. I'm joining the rebellion because it's a shot to socially advance, instead of sewing some pants, you know?" He took an affectionate look at Lafayette and then Laurens. "I got these knuckleheads in loco parentis. So, it could be worse."

Mulligan snickered at the offended expressions of Laurens and Lafayette.

He turned to Alexander and whispered with mockery encasing his words, "They're sensitive."

Alexander briefly laughed. Laurens enjoyed seeing Alexander happy, but he did envision it to be directed at something other than his expense. Laurens noticed Mulligan's interest drifting away from Alexander back to Lafayette slurring a random jumble of words in French. He knew Alexander was also finished conversing with Mulligan, as he nonchalantly positioned his body to face Laurens. Laurens starved for another chance to have Alexander's pleasing, musical tones stimulate his greedy mind.

Alexander licked his lips then spoke, "John Laurens. What do you want? What motivates you?"

Laurens stood a little taller at that moment.

"Justice. Equality." Laurens could see Alexander perk up at his answer, so he continued, "Those in bondage should have the same rights as you and I. I want to ride onto the battlefield with the first black battalion. Because I don't see how any of us can be truly free until everyone is free. Every man, woman, and child deserves a life without fear that they might be killed because of the color of their skin or where they came from."

Laurens paused to drink in the intrigued and fascinated eyes of Alexander. ‘That's right, you're not the only one with crazy ideas.’

"Like you, people shouldn't look down on you because you are an immigrant. They shouldn't look down at me, or Lafayette, or Hercules because we don't conform to their white American ideals." Laurens saw Burr return to the table with yet another round of shots. He grabbed one and downed it. No hesitation. He waited until Alexander had taken his shot before finishing.

"Don't you agree?"

A flicker of a smile graced Alexander's charming features.

He nodded then said, "I do."

Burr interrupted Laurens' moment of appreciation for his newfound friend.

"Geniuses, lower your voices. If you keep out of trouble, you'll double the chances of making a name for yourself." The four quieted themselves to listen to Burr's sometimes controversial opinion. "I'm with you, but the situation is fraught. If you're not carefully taught, you're bound to get-"

"Shot!"

Laurens was curious as to why Lafayette interrupted Burr because he always had respect enough for people to listen to their thoughts. Laurens realized that Lafayette was just too drunk to care. As to the reason why Lafayette yelled "shot," was relatively simple. A waitress had given them a round of shots to go with their, however many there were, empty shot glasses. Lafayette had obviously become very excited, which resulted in the best word to describe the alcohol in the tiny glasses. Laurens might have done the same if he wasn't so preoccupied with the islander to his right.

The islander that began to digress into another vocal essay.

"Burr, you've just got to understand where we're coming from."

His erratic concentration arrived at Lafayette.

"Mister Lafayette, hard rock like Lancelot."

Then, to Mulligan whom Alexander stared at the lower region of, eventually returned to his face.

"Those are nice pants."

And finally, to Laurens whose only region that was gawked at was his eyes. Or his lips? Laurens couldn't tell what Alexander was fixing on.

"Laurens, I like you a lot."

Laurens laughed and felt especially and oddly flustered at Alexander's casual compliment.

Alexander didn't seem to notice. He just increased the volume of his intoxicated ranting.

"We should work together in the future. I mean, what are the chances the gods would put us all in one spot? We could fight against what is conventional and traditional. Wisdom isn't a man walking a straight line, but a path of a million possibilities."

His breathing became quicker, and he was no longer resting his arms on the table, but waving them around with carefully placed intention and expression.

Laurens found that he was not the only one captivated by this man's intensity. All four couldn't keep their eyes off of him.

"We're a group of revolutionary manumission abolitionists. Give me a position, show me where the ammunition is!"

‘Accidentally rhyming. I knew it happened to him too. Also, how is he so articulate? He's practically falling over, but somehow, he doesn't stumble once?’ This was one thought that ran through Laurens' head. Here was the other: ‘You're breathtaking. I've never met anyone like you.’

Alexander was practically hyperventilating by this point, and yet it only took him a few seconds before his voice filled the air again.

Alexander's eyes widened slightly as he ran across the shocked expressions of the men.

"Oh, am I talking too loud?"

His behavior twisted into an uncommonly shy and timid spectacle.

Laurens anxiously awaited Alexander's next words. Hoping he wouldn't become insecure and end there.

While Laurens had not figured this out yet, Alexander would never shut up.

"Sometimes, I get overexcited. Shoot off at the mouth. I've never had a group of friends before, but I promise that I'll make y'all proud."

There was that same vulnerability in Alexander's eyes that Laurens had seen before. He had never felt so inspired by another person. Especially when their motivational speech was performed in a bar while they were drunk and completely improvised.

Laurens thought, ‘Let's get this guy in front of a crowd.’

Except, it was not a thought, because Laurens had made the simple, and understandable mistake of taking one too many shots. This particular level of drunkenness caused Laurens to be unable to keep his thoughts his own. Therefore, one other statement he thought to be silent had been heard. He wished it was the one about rhyming, articulation, and Alexander's clumsiness. But, as life seemed to hate his entire existence, it was the thought following directly after.

(If needed, I would advise you to take a few steps back and remind yourself of Laurens' inopportune thought, referred to as "the other.")


	3. A. Hamilton

Burr left first. He bid his friends (?) adieu. The drinking and laughing continued as the men acquainted themselves further.

Alexander's heart soared that night. He truly felt like he could belong somewhere. Of course, he wasn't completely positive since he only had drinks with these men, but at least he knew he could stand being in their presence for longer than an hour.

Hercules Mulligan, Alexander learned, was big. Not only in his physical form but mentally as well. Mulligan was a confident, loud, friendly, bear of a man. At first glance, one might think that Mulligan would be a brooding and crude individual. While he carries both of those attributes, he is so much more. His fondness for his friends is ever-present in the way he treats them. Alexander concluded he was a lucky man to be in Mulligan's company.

Marie Joseph Paul Yves Roche Gilbert du Motier, Marquis de Lafayette. Truly, he is a flagrant soul. His aura has been knit with bravery, passion, and solely good intentions. He could be a hero to not only France but America as well. Alexander wanted to see that if he could. He also discovered that Lafayette is not embarrassed by his full name as most would guess, but in adoration of it. The only reason he chopped it down to Lafayette was to ease the mouths of the people he would come to know. Even this small and almost boring fact fascinated Alexander. There's always more to a story, and this detail made Lafayette's true self visible and simply described with one word: altruistic. Although, Alexander wanted to shower Lafayette with compliments and fine words. Trying to casually propose the obviousness of Lafayette's character. He was oh so charitable, noble, generous, and thoughtful of others. It would be an honor to fight by this man's side as an ally. Or possibly, a friend.

John Laurens. John. Laurens. John Laurens. Laurens, John. First name, John, last name, Laurens. J. Laurens. Alexander refused to believe that he could be exhausted from this man's precious name. Alexander was in awe of Laurens. He imagined himself to be the first man to ever be graced by the presence of this angelic creature. Similar to the stories in the bible, where people understood real and unrelenting beauty. Previously, Alexander had only been able to see (and imagine). Now, Alexander had heard and been touched by Laurens. Although, the physical issue had only been an arm around the shoulder or a pat on the back. While these were only slivers of what Alexander knew was possible, he was thankful. And only a little flustered at times. 

‘Practically undetectable,’ Alexander thought. Thought? More like, knew.

Laurens' touch had been short-lived, but his tongue? Which was only used to speak, and sometimes sing, proved itself undoubtedly divine. He had honey coating his words. The smallest sounds were indistinguishable from a poet's prose. Alexander realized that he could never be a deaf man. How could one survive in a world without the luscious, velvety notes belonging to John Laurens? He had Alexander wondering if his unseemly character could ever be seen as desirable.

Alexander knew they could be matched singularly through beliefs and ambitions. After all, Laurens had a mind out of his time. Radical and enlightened. His sort was only seen once in a person's lifetime. Or only this lifetime.

Laurens fought with morals that Alexander didn't possess. Alexander knew he was a flawed man. He could never compare to Laurens in the purity of his motivations. Alexander wanted the same rights for others that Laurens desired, but for him... it wasn't his first priority. Alexander was too self-absorbed. Another logical reason for Laurens to want nothing to do with him.

The night and Alexander's anxious thoughts lengthened. An hour past midnight, Mulligan dragged Lafayette out of the bar and into the inn where they settled in neighboring rooms. Laurens had left the table as well, but only to relieve himself. Alexander assumed Laurens had also decided it was time to retire, resulting in Alexander walking out of the bar and unsuccessfully searching for the inn where he was stationed.

The inn was only a few blocks north, but in Alexander's muddled consciousness he could have sworn it was south. He began to stumble his way toward the direction of every building other than the right one. He cursed to himself with every step he took, as he gradually became aware that he was not anywhere near the inn. The streets were dark. Almost no light coming from the houses and stores that Alexander passed. The moon was out, but it was starved. Alexander looked into the open windows of a few motels. They were not his, but at least a fraction of them provided enough artificial light for Alexander to understand that just a few more steps would not help. South was a dead end.

Alexander spun on his left foot and landed with his right. His right side began to waver, and as Alexander felt his stomach drop, he knew he had to correct himself. He threw his body to the left because that would of course set him straight.

Alexander was horribly wrong.

He was now falling to the left. A painful collapse onto the ground would occur in five seconds. Alexander frantically looked around for anything that he could use to steady himself. There was a tree to his right, but it was much too far. There were houses, but just like the tree, Alexander would not have the time to latch onto them. The rest was dirt. Dirt, gravel, rocks, and more dirt.

‘I hate the ground,’ Alexander growled inwardly. Then, correctly followed his vile comment with a string of "fuck," "shit," and "bitch". Not particularly in that order.

Alexander's left shoulder was about to connect to the hateful earth when he felt a pair of hands clutch his shoulders in a rather excessively harsh way. At least, that's what Alexander thought.

He was, however, grateful for his anonymous savior. Although, he would never admit to this fact since he had been manhandled so discourteously.

"Alexander! Are you okay?" The rough hands still held Alexander, and Alexander angrily swatted them away.

Alexander's face scrunched at the man, and said, "Yes, I'm quite capable, whoever you are, and you," Alexander dragged the word, "will call me Hamilton."

Alexander straightened his arms by his sides and huffed. He didn't need to be grappled by a stranger tonight, or any other night.

The man's face was hidden by the ebony blanket of the night; Alexander wanted to know who his rude and intolerable "savior" was.

"Step into the light," Alexander slurred. "I want to know the face of the man whose uselessness is his only apparent quality."

A golden beam leaking from the window of a low-level motel room began to shine on the man.

Dark brown, curly hair tied into a ponytail, medium-brown eyes, freckles, and an awkward smile. These were the features of the man Alexander had met earlier that night. The features of the man holding his hands up in surrender to Alexander's vicious, slowly sobering tone.

Alexander's face paled. He wanted to hit himself for being so callous to the one man he was trying to impress the most.

"Laurens..." Alexander paused, not for effect, but to will the embarrassed blush away from his ashen cheeks. "I deeply apologize. If I would have known it was you, I would have never disrespected you in such an ugly manner. Forgive me for my impulsive and humiliating behavior."

It was like his entire being had been flooded with shame, which happily replaced the alcohol in Alexander's system. Alexander feared Laurens would not forgive him, but he was rapidly assured that Laurens was not that type of man.

Laurens stared at Alexander with raised eyebrows and wide eyes. His parted lips formed into a smile, then his body folded over itself in one of the most dramatic movements Alexander had ever laid his eyes on. Laurens' laughter shook the air around them, and Alexander began to feel a wave of ease wash over him. Laurens held his sides and continued to sound lofty, quarter notes that eventually fell into steady decrescendo of joyous cries and genuine tears.

Alexander realized he had joined hysterical melodies with Laurens, and together they ended with a toothy grin.

Laurens locked eyes with Alexander, then sighed.

"I forgive you."

Laurens's legs sailed to Alexander's side and held their position. Alexander fixated on a rather prodigious arm lie comfortably on Alexander's narrow shoulders. Alexander took advantage of the moment by wrapping his arm under Laurens' and clasping his hand on the much less narrow shoulder.

"Are you staying at the same inn as Mulligan, Lafayette, and I?" Alexander asked.

A whisper of hope hung in the balance.

Laurens began to walk, forcing Alexander to walk with him.

"Yeah, I am." A mischievous grin awoke on Laurens' peaceful features. "What are you gonna do about it, Alexander?"

Laurens' eyes trained on Alexander. Just begging for a reaction.

Alexander's typically quick-witted mind froze. Luckily, his legs kept moving.

Alexander wished for any sort of comeback to fall in his lap, but his tendency to overthink caught up with him first.

‘What the hell does he mean by that? I'll just turn it around on him and see how he feels.’

Alexander matched his expression with Laurens, and let his mouth open.

"What do you want me to do about it..." Alexander rested his tongue for a second, this time definitely for dramatic effect. "John."

Of course, all of this adolescent repartee was between two newfound pals and nothing more. If you don't have little banters like this with your friends, then can you really consider yourself friends?

No?

Exactly, dumbass.

Laurens raised an eyebrow, and Alexander prepared to taunt this innocent conversation for longer. And longer. And then maybe a little longer after that.

Alexander expected Laurens to spout some ingenious remark, but his eyes just lingered. Their clever, wolf-like character melted. Alexander could feel Laurens' gaze explore his face. They swept over his other hopefully, fine features and submerged in Alexander's eyes. Black pools starved and longing. Even though Alexander stood in an overcast portion of the street, Laurens could still detect every emotion flickering in Alexander's eyes.

In an instant, Alexander became wholly aware of the nearness of Laurens' lips in relation to his.

‘Just a few inches more,’ Alexander thought. His eyes drifting downward from Laurens' intense gaze. In the following moment, Alexander understood what he was about to do and snapped out of it. ‘What am I doing? Laurens is my friend, and I've only just met him. People do not kiss their friends. They kiss their lovers or potential lovers. Laurens is neither of those. I must stop this.’

Alexander quickly turned his head away and kept their steady pace to the inn. Only a block away, now. Alexander refused to look back at Laurens' stupidly gorgeous face, and also refused to think that he was planning on kissing him anyway. What that moment was, was nothing. Nothing but the last bits of alcohol in one's system. Nothing more, nothing less.


	4. J. Laurens

You know those sweet, simple moments where you have just woken up from a wet dream you "can't remember," or you walk through a particularly bland threshold, or any mundane moment interrupted by an epiphany?

To Laurens, it was like a shooting star fleeting through the night sky for only a second. Dropping in to say hello and deliver its message. A message, well, it was more like a mission.

On a partly cloudy morning, Laurens was located in the cafe of the inn, which was more accurately called a "bed and breakfast". In this bed and breakfast, a couple was sitting at a table a few yards away from Laurens, bickering about something particularly distressing. At least, distressing to the wife. And a woman in red sitting alone, with tears begging to escape from her eyes. The final person in this odd group was Laurens. Pouring coffee and contemplating nothing else, but the satisfaction he would experience when the unsweetened flavor reached his lips. He was a black coffee kind of fellow, and this harmless detail was the only bitter part of his character.

While the dark, caffeinated drink flowed from the spout of an exceptionally boorish metal pot into a small, porcelain cup held by the right hand of John Laurens, his routine was rudely disrupted. A slip of the hand, really. Or the mind. Whoever's fault it was, it didn't matter. What did matter was Laurens' left hand, holding the pot, moved an inch to the left. The drink expecting to fall into Laurens' cup was greeted not with more of itself, but a dirty, muddy, old wooden floor. The splash shocked Laurens into jumping back a step. He needed to, didn't he? Or else the bottom of his pants would have been soiled quite noticeably.

In a nasty turn of events, his chest was scorched. In a split-second of pure idiocy, the half-full, or half-empty, cup jumped back with Laurens. It was no longer half-full or half-empty, but completely empty. The contents of the cup flew onto his pristine, white shirt. He would have to change now. He would have to pour another cup of coffee for himself. He would have to clean the floor. He would have to do so many previously unintended tasks because a single thought startled him.

Laurens sighed. ‘Of all the people, in all the world, it had to be me.’

He could have gotten over the mishap with ease if it weren't for his two good friends, Lafayette and Mulligan, as a humble audience for the show, standing six feet behind him.

Violently laughing without any consideration for the other people in the room. They were definitely laughing too hard, but the only person aware of this fact was Laurens.

Laurens spun on his heel and narrowed his eyes at the duo.

Mulligan tried so very hard to gain composure of himself for Laurens' sake, but Lafayette? Oh, he didn't try at all.

Laurens thought they would ridicule him in front of the three other innocent bystanders. He expected mockery in the most embarrassing sort. But they just laughed, walked past him, poured coffee for themselves successfully, and sat down.

Laurens rolled his eyes at them and turned his head to return to his room when his mind caught up with him. His mission costing him a perfectly peaceful morning couldn't be left wanting.

Laurens twisted his body to face Lafayette and Mulligan and strolled to their table.

He pulled a chair neighboring him and straddled it backward. He placed his arms on the headrest and joined his unsuspecting friends on a mission.

"I have an idea," He said.

From then on, a plan was hatched.

It took them a total of two days to form the plan and put it into motion.

Here you are, with them, on the third day.

. . .

Lafayette was in an odd position. With an inch of space between his face and Alexander's, he whispered this: "Monsieur Hamilton, it is time to wake up."

The next step in waking Alexander was not so subtle. In retrospect, maybe it wasn't imperative, but it did work.

Hercules Mulligan smashed a pillow into Alexander's face with all his might. An explosion of white feathers filled the air and landed on Alexander's nervous, but alert form.

The fear in Alexander's eyes was put to rest when he registered the familiar faces in his room.

"You're all here... in my room." He narrowed his bloodshot eyes and scanned the mischievous faces of his acquaintances, or friends, he was no longer sure. "Why are you in my room?"

Mulligan tossed the deflated pillowcase over his shoulder and sat on the edge of Alexander's bed. Mulligan turned to Laurens, awaiting his response to Alexander's question, but there was no answer. Laurens raised his brows to communicate he didn't want to be the one to say why.

Mulligan fired back, ‘why aren't you saying anything? You don't want to take credit or something?’ 

Laurens glared even harder, hoping that Alexander wasn't wondering what they were talking about.

‘What's the problem? We all did it, so just tell him that, alright?’

Mulligan rolled his eyes and turned to face Alexander.

"We liked what you were saying when we first met you, and we think you should have a chance to talk in front of some people. You know, get the message around."

Lafayette couldn't keep a smile from his face as he piggybacked off of Mulligan's comment.

"Oui!" he whipped open Alexander's wardrobe and began to rifle through the poorly packed clothes.

He sighed as he discovered Alexander's, to put it nicely, humble collection of attire was nowhere near presentable. Lafayette cocked his head at Alexander, who hadn't the slightest clue why he was being judged so harshly.

"What in the hell is this, Hamilton?" Lafayette crossed his arms and stroked his stubble as he stared at Alexander. Not giving him a thimble's worth of understanding, until his eyes passed from Alexander to Laurens, then Alexander, then Laurens.

It was at this time, he had a similar epiphany to Laurens's a few days ago. Although, Lafayette internalized his shock a little better.

He waved a hand in Alexander's direction, and said, "Look, we put together a little meeting so you could inform our fellow revolutionaries that the time has come. The problem is you have nothing that says, "listen to me," but I have a very dear friend who does..." A bright, yet overly cocky smirk was plastered on Lafayette's face. "Laurens, you're about the same size as Hamilton. Lend him something, won't you?"

Laurens gripped the armrest of the chair he sat on with an unnecessary amount of fervor. His knuckles protruded from his left hand as they turned an unsettling bone-white, and he threw his right hand to the side in the least nonchalant manner possible.

"Yeah, I don't mind. Whatever you need, I got you."

Laurens hated himself.

Luckily, the three didn't pick up on his awkward, stiff behavior and helped the half-clothed Alexander out of bed, and into the bathroom to clean himself. He couldn't speak in front of almost a hundred people while looking like he hadn't bathed in a week.

Laurens headed to his room to grab suitable garments for Alexander. An off-white ensemble pulled together with... with what? Laurens couldn't give Alexander one of his coats. They definitely wouldn't fit.

For a better visual, Laurens pictured Alexander dressing himself in front of Laurens. Maybe Laurens was perched on the end of the bed, holding his head up with his hands, and watching with patience. He could see Alexander sliding his arms through Laurens' linen shirt, carefully buttoning from his neck to his waist to his hips. Thrusting his hands into Laurens' breeches-

‘Wait, not mine, but his, me on him- NO! Mine on him. Whatever, I know what I mean.’

Laurens tried to convince himself he wasn't flustered by Alexander. It was just a daydream anyway, what did it matter?

What did it matter that Laurens's face reddened at the thought of Alexander's petite form wrapped in his coat? His coat matching Alexander's dark brown hair always pulled back in a low ponytail. His coat that would generally reach his knees, but reached a few inches past Alexander's. His coat that was filled to the brim with Laurens' shoulders, but was only three-fourths full with Alexander's.

Alexander just a few feet in front of Laurens with an innocent smile on his face. Those tender, doe-like eyes arresting Laurens without apology. He dropped his stare to the floor in embarrassment.

Reality tugged at Laurens when he remembered that he wasn't sitting on the end of the bed before Alexander. He didn't need to surrender to anyone's gaze because he was the only person in that room.

‘Why can't I focus?’ He paused and adjusted his statement. ‘Why can't I focus on anything but him?’ 

Laurens threw his coat to the side and grabbed a similarly colored coat from the bottom of his luggage worn by his slimmer frame years ago.

He draped the outfit over his forearm and headed to the next room over to hand the clothes off to Alexander, who stood with nothing more than a towel clinging to his waist.

Alexander smiled as he laid eyes on Laurens.

"Thank you, according to Lafayette I was in desperate need of something like this."

"Yeah, it was nothing. Just trying to help wherever I can."

Alexander stepped behind a wooden and wicker-made folding screen to change. Laurens sighed in what he assumed was relief. His subconscious knew this lie and recognized his true feelings as disappointment, not relief.

Despite Alexander's current disposition, he continued to converse with Laurens. Excitement was obvious in his tones, yet not a trace of anxiety. This observation surprised Laurens.

"How many people will be attending my speech?" Alexander asked.

Laurens tidied Alexander's bed while replying, "Eighty to ninety people, I think," even though Laurens knew the answer to the question he was about to ask, he couldn't help himself. "Why? You nervous?"

Alexander scoffed receiving an amused smirk from Laurens.

"Never, Laurens. I would never let such an insignificant technicality, like fear, barricade me from the only thing that matters." Alexander stepped out from behind the divider, now in full view of Laurens. "Our freedom."

‘It fits,’ Laurens thought.

Alexander took a bow, causing Laurens to smile at his sudden playfulness. Alexander straightened the coat, then tilted his head with a confident smile.

"I know you would agree."

Laurens straightened his coat, then tilted his head to mirror Alexander.

"You know me so well."

Alexander equalized, and took a step forward. Laurens shifted his weight and held a questioning look in his eyes. Laurens felt an unusual sense of anxiety at that moment, keeping his voice rested in anticipation of what Alexander might say.

"Do you remember the night we met when I was telling everyone why I came here, and what I planned to do while I'm here?"

Alexander paused for a signal of acknowledgment from Laurens. Laurens nodded, so Alexander continued. He also took another step forward, if that matters to your imagination.

"When I was talking, there was a point where I got a little heated and stopped for a second. I know it was loud in there, but I think I heard y-"

Lafayette crashed through the door with Mulligan directly behind him. They didn't notice Laurens' paled expression. They only cared about the time, which was coming faster than they anticipated.

"Laurens! I told you to give him some clothes not flirt with him so long he's late to his own speech, now dépêchez-vous (hurry)!"

Lafayette ripped Alexander away from Laurens and led him through the inn, and out the doors.

Laurens, Lafayette, and Alexander tumbled into a horse-drawn carriage. Mulligan seized the opportunity to push the driver out of his seat, and take the reins in his hands. Otherwise, they would surely be late. At least Lafayette and Laurens worried about the fate of the fallen driver.

Mulligan was victorious. He brought Alexander and the rest to their destination all without crashing into anyone. He dismounted from the seat and opened the carriage door for his friends. 

A satisfied grin stretched across Mulligan's face.

"Five minutes to spare."

Lafayette brought Alexander to a small set of stairs looking over a crowd growing bigger by the minute. Laurens took in the view and turned to find Alexander looking at him.

Laurens mouthed, "Good luck," and gave Alexander a thumbs up.

Alexander nodded and took the few steps up causing eighty to ninety people's attention drawn to him. Alexander noticed a wave of confusion pass over the crowd's faces. He deciphered their befuddled expressions as the effect of nothing more than his anonymity to them. This was why they were confused, but a few pieces were missing from that puzzle.

Laurens, Lafayette, and Mulligan found a space for themselves at the front of the audience. A taciturn and half-hopeful, half-cynical audience waiting for Alexander to begin.

When he did the audience was taken by storm. He didn't stop to take a breath. He didn't need to take a breath because his lungs were filled with passion and that's all they required. He didn't stop to think. He didn't need to think because he knew. Conviction was written on his soul and running through his veins. Alexander commanded the audience to submit to his will. He didn't give them time to process. He gave them what he wanted which was time to listen. It's not like they couldn't process later, right?

Once Alexander was finished, the crowd had become addicted to his words. They needed a fix, and in order to appease their cravings, Alexander was flooded with questions, agreements, and encouragement. Words, words, words, words.

His fifteen minutes of fame was more like three hours' worth of convincing the people why he should be famous, followed by an hour of people telling him why he was right.

Laurens, Lafayette, and Mulligan couldn't contain the pride they felt for their friend. A term they hadn't granted quicker for anyone else.

The craze eventually died down only because Alexander was torn away from the battlefield by a considerate trio. The final step in their plan was about to be fulfilled. In the highest form of congratulations, they filled Alexander with alcohol and sang until the night was through.

Oh, the stories I could tell you of that night. Then again, what happens in the tavern, stays in the tavern.

Sorry ;)


	5. J. Laurens

Comfort, excitement, wonder.

These emotions swam through Laurens’ mind when he felt the inn shake. The growl of an angry god bellowing through the heavens. Was the afterlife so upsetting or was it the frustration one feels when their subjects do nothing but sin?

Laurens was sleeping on his right side, facing the wall. The wall hadn’t been painted for years. It was left to decay with time like all things in life. Laurens could pinpoint every wide stroke of white left on the wall. He almost wanted to grab a can of paint and mend the stripped enamel himself. A pity to see potential wasted when healing was so simple.

His weary eyes drifted across the wall to watch its imperfections stand bare with every strike of lightning. Every faded fragment and hidden scrape vulnerable to onlookers. Its insecurities accentuated with blasts of electricity random or purposeful.

Laurens knew he could not fall back asleep at this sunless hour. So, he sat up in his bed causing a creak to follow his every move and stared out of the window. Dark clouds gorged and overflowing greeted his tired consciousness. The town below him was blurred and empty. Laurens could never understand why more people didn’t run outside in times like these. What have their lives come to if they cannot enjoy the peppering of droplets falling on their faces? Or, one of his favorites, cupping your hands in front of you to fill your palms with rainwater. Once full, then, and only then, do you tip your make-shift bowl toward your lips and drink. That step might not be as popular with the crowds, but Laurens loved it.

Appreciation and contentedness swirled in his heart of hearts. He could have sat there watching the storm from the present hour of three, all the way to seven AM when he would leave his room to get breakfast. For himself, and his friends, of course.

His ears, in a state of Zen, caught a sliver of curiosity. Waking them from serenity and replacing calm with an inquisition.

Other than thunder, what else could they hear?

Laurens heard a whimper on the other side of the wall. A whimper followed by words, fast and phobic.

He leaned to the left and pressed his ear to the vertical plane. Itching to unravel this mystery.

He couldn’t make out every word, but a single phrase spoken at the highest volume of a whisper was unmistakable: “you’re okay, you’re safe”. These four words repeated themselves over and over again.

A voice scared and alone in the room next to him. In the room belonging to Alexander Hamilton.

Laurens’ fairy godmother had assigned him a second mission: help Alexander.

Laurens got out from under the covers and met an undesirable companion named Cold. He stripped the bed of its comforter and wrapped the blanket around his shoulders clutching it close to his chest. He opened the door, and just like the twin-sized bed, it creaked.

He only needed to walk a few feet before he arrived at his destination.

A rumble of thunder broke through the sheets of rain, lasting only a few seconds. However, the disadvantage of a brief moment did not bother this god. He used his time wisely by rattling the floorboards underneath Laurens.

The sky’s ferocious snarling quieted permitting Laurens to make out another tormented whine behind the wooden door.

He tapped his knuckles against the door. Not enough to alarm Alexander, but enough to alert him of Laurens’ presence.

Laurens’ heart sank when a weak, “who is it?” answered him.

Laurens put his hand on the door, and said, “It’s Laurens...” he hesitated.

From what he’d seen of Alexander’s character thus far is an independent, proud man. If Laurens told Alexander he heard him, and wanted to help him, would Alexander accept aid, even if it was Laurens? He couldn’t take the chance of his assistance rejected, so he promptly muscled up an excuse.

“The storm woke me up, and I can’t fall back asleep. So, I was wondering if you were awake, so we could talk about... something.”

‘Something. Really? That’s the best excuse I can think of? You know what would have been better? Anything. Anything would have been better than that.’

Despite Laurens’ second-guessing, Alexander said, “Yeah, come on in. I would love to talk.”

Laurens twisted the doorknob and entered the room. Making sure his white “cape” made it through the entryway.

Alexander had his blanket wrapped around his shoulders as well. Other than this delightful reflection, Laurens noticed Alexander’s hair was down. He looked... cute. Only then did Laurens realize his curly mess was out of binding as well. He patted his mane in an attempt to tame any unkempt strands.

Alexander smiled.

“Your hair looks wonderful. No need to worry.”

Laurens was impressed his poorly-laid out plan was already going so well. This small joy was removed from both of their attitudes when another round of thunder shook the room. Alexander shook with it. He couldn’t seem to look Laurens in the eyes. He tried to hide his fear, but there was never such an obvious emotion seen in someone’s eyes.

Laurens grabbed the chair belonging to a writing desk and brought it to the side of the bed. In the process, the chair bumped against the desk causing a single paper to float to the ground. Laurens reached to pick it up, and return it to safety, but not before reading the first sentence.

‘I imagine death so much it feels more like a memory.’

Laurens swiftly shoved the paper back in its place before any more of Alexander’s privacy could be stifled.

He made the chair face him, so he could prop his arms on the headrest when he sat down.

Alexander scooted closer to Laurens, in a subtle attempt to feel a shred of security. The only part of him unattended to by the blanket was his face. Alexander seduced all of Laurens’ attention to his face. Mostly without intention.

“Is there anything specific you want to talk to me about?” Alexander asked.

Laurens hummed.

“If there was, I don’t remember it anymore, but, uh, how are you? Did you like talking in front of all those people?”

A soft laugh glided through Alexander’s lips.

“Talking in front of that crowd was like a dream. Before tonight, I had been walking through a sadistic desert of simplicity. It resurrected me. It gave me a new form of pleasure I have never felt before.” Alexander’s expression of appreciation interchanged with deep thought. “I forgot to ask this when all of you were here, but... who gave me that night?”

Laurens crossed his arms over the chair and rested his chin on the headrest.

“I mean, we all put it together, you know, but I guess I was the one who had the idea.”

Alexander smiled.

“I guessed it was you.”

Laurens’ head perked up.

“Wait, you did? How did you know?”

Alexander raised his eyebrows and with a cock of his head, he uttered three words, succeeded by two, “Like I said,” Alexander lowered his tone, "I guessed.”

With that smooth, simple, cocky whisper, Laurens was driven wild. He felt a rush of tension in his muscles. Alexander raised an eyebrow in less of a question and more of a challenge. Laurens created a tempting experiment in his head.

‘Alexander might be confident with his words, but how confident is he with his actions?’

Laurens began his first round of testing.

He let the blanket fall off his shoulders, and he swung his leg around the chair so he was now standing in front of Alexander. Alexander’s expression shifted to surprise and confusion. He didn’t know what Laurens was about to do, but he desperately wanted to.

Laurens tapped Alexander’s blanketed shoulder with a single finger and a single tap.

“Take this off.”

Alexander’s first instinct was to protest.

“Why would I take this-”

Laurens didn’t have time for Alexander’s games, and if he had to he would use force to quiet this relentless, painful, disobedient, dirty mouth.

“Take it off,” Laurens placed a hand on Alexander’s chest and slowly pushed his back to the bed’s surface. “Now.”

Alexander quickly tore at the comforter and dropped it off the edge of the bed.

Alexander shifted to make himself more comfortable. His body waited. He wanted to believe he could handle whatever Laurens would do to him. But in his thoughts, only heard by him, he didn’t think he could.

Laurens pressed a hand to Alexander’s chest, feeling his heartbeat, then placed it to the right of Alexander’s head. He took his other hand and placed it in the same location, but this time on the left side. He positioned his left knee on the bed to support himself while he let his legs spread to envelope Alexander between them.

Laurens traced the back of his fingers against Alexander’s cheek. Laurens felt Alexander lean into his caress, and he smiled. This youthful soul was beautiful. It was innocent and untainted by Laurens’ sinful desires. Maybe Alexander wasn’t ready for this experiment.

Laurens ground his hips against Alexander, causing a husky moan to escape Alexander’s lips. Laurens grinned, but his satisfied expression quickly morphed into closed eyes and parted lips when Alexander bucked against him.

‘Never mind.’

In this moment of determination, Laurens realized Alexander was still wearing his shirt. And not just his shirt, but Laurens’ shirt.

‘How adorable,’ he thought.

Laurens turned his hungry gaze to Alexander’s delicate, longing eyes. As Laurens held Alexander’s tentative stare, he tore the shirt off of Alexander.

It was ruined now.

The storm raging outside no longer concerned Alexander. The storm raging inside his nerves? That did.

Lust stopped Alexander from being able to string words together, but he managed a question.

“What are you going to do to me?”

Alexander’s breathing, along with his heartbeat, increased. Laurens could feel every inhale, and every exhale. Every quiver and every drum of his pulse. Laurens could feel a tightness in his abdomen arise.

“I’m going to touch every part of you,” he leaned down and pressed his lips to Alexander’s neck. Laurens breathed softly against Alexander's exposed throat. Warm air tickled his pet’s sensitive skin. Laurens pulled back to position his face inches away from Alexander’s. “With my hands, and then my lips, and then my tongue.”

Laurens stroked Alexander’s hair, maintaining eye contact.

“Would you like me to do that, Alexander?”

Alexander nodded vigorously. The anticipation so evident in his body language you could practically feel it.

‘Then again,’ Laurens thought, ‘I can feel it.’

The corners of Laurens’ mouth raised, and he brought his lips to Alexander’s ear.

He chose to whisper his next words earning a shudder from Alexander.

“Then turn around, get on your hands and knees, and beg.”

Wait, you don’t think any of this is actually happening, do you? Hahahahahaha, aw, come on, you had to have known. Hey, don’t get all mad at me, it’s your fault anyway for believing such an obvious lie. Just chill out, alright? Truce? Okay, truce.

Now, here’s what really happened.


	6. J. Laurens

Alexander smiled.

“I guessed it was you.”

Laurens’ head perked up.

“Wait, you did? How did you know?”

Alexander raised his eyebrows and with a cock of his head, he uttered three words, succeeded by two, “Like I said,” Alexander lowered his tone, "I guessed.”

With that smooth, simple, cocky whisper, Laurens was driven wild. His mind was flooded with thoughts of Alexander. Under him, trembling in excitement and anticipation instead of terror. Laurens could no longer focus; he just stared at Alexander’s lips and didn’t look away.

Alexander, confused, attempted to snap Laurens out of the trance.

“Laurens,” he snapped his fingers. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

Alexander looked around the room searching for any tool able to bring his friend back to reality. He was very concerned.

An image popped into his head. A memory of the morning prior. He knew neither satisfaction nor pleasure could be attained through his next actions. He didn’t want to, he had to!

Alexander twisted his body to the right. He let the blanket fall off his shoulders increasing needed mobility of his arms for his foolproof plan. A lone white pillow at the head of the bed. Rested and unused. It didn’t know Alexander's hands would grab its thin corners and destroy it only to jolt a man back to the real world. It didn’t want that, but Alexander didn’t care. He grabbed those soft, virtuous corners and forced them to aid and abet his crimes.

A down feather filling burst from Alexander’s accomplice severing the connection between Laurens and the dream-state.

Hercules Mulligan would have been proud.

He also did not care for a pillow’s feelings.

“Pffthfthfthffft,” Laurens said.

Feathers stuck to his drool-dipped lips. Laurens was stuck between dismay and distress. Truly, a rock and a hard place.

He wiped the feathers away from his mouth.

“What was that f-” a revelation occurred, and Laurens covered his face with his hands. “I zoned out, didn’t I?”

Alexander nodded.

“Yes, you did. What were you thinking about?”

Laurens was speechless.

‘Battle, women, you? No, revolutions, slavery, you? NO.’

“I was thinking,” Laurens said.

Alexander had to stifle a laugh.

“Uh-huh, I caught that, but what were you thinking about?”

Laurens, in disarray, exhaled heavily.

“You.”

Alexander would have taken a step back if he were standing.

“Me?”

“You.”

“What about me?”

For once, Laurens had a good excuse.

“I was thinking about what it was like listening to you speak. You really have a way with words, you know.”

Alexander's smile was smaller than he wished to show. Alexander had no qualm when it came to talking about himself, but he had to sacrifice this opportunity and instead use it for another question he had been harboring since he stood in front of the perplexed, then obsessed audience.

“Earlier, Lafayette, Mulligan, and you agreed the speech was for me. If the speech was for me, then you must have gathered people together and spread the word that I was going to speak. Meaning the people would expect to see an unfamiliar face that they had only heard about...”

Laurens was growing more nervous by the second. He knew exactly what Alexander was about to ask because he had been dreading that question since he formed the plan with Lafayette and Mulligan. How would Alexander react when he knew the truth of their scheme?

“Mmhmm,” Laurens was aloof and breezy and all things not-nervous.

“What I mean to ask you is this: why was it when I walked up those steps and looked out into the crowd, they all shared the same dazed expression?”

Laurens swallowed, then crossed his left arm over the headrest, and the right propping his head up.

A defensive pose? Alexander thought so.

Laurens knew he had to tell the truth. He didn’t want to lie to Alexander, and worse he didn’t know what he would do if he got caught in a lie.

“It all started three, actually four days ago...”

Here you are, with him, three, actually four days ago.

. . .

“I have an idea,” Laurens said.

Lafayette and Mulligan synchronized their reply.

“What idea?”

Laurens intertwined his fingers with his own.

“Remember when we first met Ale- Hamilton, and when he was finally done talking, I said, “Let’s get this guy in front of a crowd,”?”

Mulligan huffed in disbelief.

“Among other things.”

Laurens furrowed his brows.

“What do you mean “among other things,”?”

Lafayette was already sitting right next to Mulligan when he leaned toward him and said, “Yeah, what is it that he said? Something to do with Hamilton being breathtaking, and...”

Mulligan recited Laurens’ previous statement. He knew it by heart.

“You’re breathtaking. I’ve never met anyone like you.”

Lafayette nodded.

“Ahhh, yes, that is it.” He turned to Mulligan and playfully cuffed his shoulder. “How you always remember things like these, I will never know.”

Laurens didn’t expect a bed and breakfast to be the place he ran out of oxygen in and died.

“You, you heard that?”

“You didn’t exactly whisper it, chérie.”

Lafayette and Mulligan shared a laugh.

‘Maybe this is what a stroke feels like,’ Laurens thought.

“Well, I just said that because I believe it, you know? I mean, he is, and I don’t know what the problem is here. He’s my- our friend. I think of you guys like that too, so it’s not weird,” he paused. “Wait, you don’t think Hamilton-”

Mulligan interrupted Laurens’ ranting.

“Shut up, Laurens.”

“Oui, that was too much,” Lafayette leaned forward, and grabbed one of Laurens’ hands, and held it. “And, no, I do not think he heard you.”

“Yeah, anyway, can we go back to getting Hamilton in front of a crowd and all that?” Mulligan said, making it obvious his patience was beginning to falter.

Laurens backtracked through the conversation.

“Umm, yeah. As I was saying, I want to give Hamilton a chance to spread the word around. Convince some of the, uh, stragglers, that we need to fight back against the British.” He clicked his tongue. “What do you guys think of that?”

Lafayette and Mulligan looked to each other, turned back to Laurens, and then nodded.

“Sounds good, but how are we gonna make that happen? Just walk around town, harassing people, telling ‘em how much they’d love to hear this guy they’ve never heard of before?” Mulligan inquired, already cynical of the “plan”.

Laurens shrugged.

“Well, I hadn’t gotten that far yet.”

A few seconds of silence took place between the three before Lafayette practically jumped out of his seat.

“I’ve got it!” His eyes, brighter than the sun, widened. “A few days ago, I heard of a man that was coming to this city to speak to the people. Somewhere under a hundred, and apparently our dear citizens don’t like him very much.”

Mulligan raised an eyebrow.

“Is that, is that it? You don’t have more to say?”

Lafayette scoffed.

“I thought it was obvious, but apparently not.” He rolled his eyes. “All we have to do is make someone disappear. Although, I’m not exactly sure how yet.”

Laurens was still confused, but Mulligan broke out laughing.

“Ahahaha, I know exactly how to do that.”

The next day the trio spent their time researching. Here is a list of everything they discovered: the speaker is visiting his sister who lives ten minutes away from their bed and breakfast, the speaker’s name is Augustus Davis, his sister’s name is Annie Davis, and finally, the speaker will break out in hives, and have to stay in bed for two to three days if he is exposed to even a dash of wood dust.

The three decided the night before the third day was the most opportune time to sabotage Augustus Davis’s life.

Fast forward to the night of Laurens’ confession (lacking a very specific scene to confirm Alexander would never hear of “You’re breathtaking. I’ve never met anyone like you.”).

. . .

“So, yeah. That’s it.”

Alexander narrowed his eyes at Laurens.

“No, it’s not. You left out the details of the night before my speech.”

“Does it even matter, though?”

“It does.”

Laurens groaned.

“Fine.”

Rewind to the sabotage night.

. . .

“You’re stepping on my fucking face, so if you don’t move any faster, I’m gonna drop you.”

Tonight, was not Mulligan’s night.

Because he was the largest and strongest of the three, he had to hoist Lafayette and Laurens up and into the window of Annie Davis’ house. Then, he would stand watch, while the other two did the dirty work.

The night before, the trio had spent hours learning how to make soap, making it, and adding a special ingredient. They also massacred half a tree to fill two bags full of wood dust.

Lafayette was the first to enter the room of an unconscious Augustus. He made every step as light as possible in hopes he would not wake the sleeping bear. Laurens entered after him, carrying the two bags of wood dust, and the soap.

The floor was not decorated with rugs, or perhaps even a few fallen clothes, which didn’t help the scandal move along any faster. Lafayette grabbed the bar of tainted soap from Laurens’ hands and tip-toed out of the bedroom to find the bathroom.

Laurens had one bag slung over each shoulder like a purse. He glanced at Augustus to verify a restful state. The snoring should have confirmed it, but Laurens wanted to make sure. Eyes closed, mouth open, drool sliding down his chin... step four was ready for take-off.

Laurens stepped close enough to the king-sized bed his thighs brushed the comforter. He stuffed both hands inside the bags, and grabbed a handful of wood dust and sprinkled it on every pillow. A halo of allergy-inducing particles crowned Augustus’ head. A little on his chest, a little-

‘Whoops,’ Laurens’ hand cramped.

A LOT on his face.

Laurens drew back his hand quickly. Augustus snorted, and his hand shot to his nose to wipe away the dust.

‘Shit,’ Laurens thought.

Augustus sat up, then turned to the right facing Laurens.

Laurens froze.

Augustus froze.

Laurens blinked.

Augustus didn’t.

Augustus couldn’t make out any features on Laurens’ face thanks to the time of day they chose. Despite the fact Augustus couldn’t pinpoint who this silhouette belonged to, he still screamed.

In a fit of panic, Laurens took both bags still three-fourths full of wood dust and chucked them at Augustus. To Augustus, a bomb exploded in his face. Even though the repercussions weren’t as lethal, the rash soon to develop would be a close resemblance to a charred face.

Augustus’ screams were muffled under the reign of fire unleashed by Laurens.

Laurens’ next step was to notify Lafayette of a plan gone wrong.

“LAFAYETTE,” He screeched. “RUUUUUUUN!” Somehow, the volume of his roar reached a heightened level with every “U”.

Laurens stood with his hands on the window sill, ready to jump, but waiting for Lafayette to appear behind him.

A few seconds passed, and a few totally random crashing and shattering sounds sound later, Lafayette burst through the doorway. No longer tip-toeing but sprinting through the room without a care in the world according to the huge grin plastered on his face. Laurens looked below to see Mulligan with his arms outstretched. Ready to rescue a falling soldier. Laurens launched himself out of the window praying his clumsiness would not reward him with a broken bone.

Luckily, no awards were being handed out tonight.

Lafayette leaped first and thought later. A usually endearing trait, but not so charming now that he had belly-flopped on top of a secured Laurens and securing Mulligan.

Mulligan shoved Lafayette off of him.

“Fuck you, Marie!”

Lafayette pouted mockingly at Mulligan earning a scowl from his friend.

Laurens broke them from their childish banter by pushing them forwards. As they raced away from the crime scene, Lafayette began to laugh uncontrollably.

Mulligan was the first to ask why.

“What the fuck is so funny?”

Instead of granting them a worded answer, Lafayette just reached into his coat pocket and pulled out the bar of fucking soap.

Tears were falling from his eyes now, and when he tried to say anything his hopeful sentences were replaced with more laughter.

Laurens looked to the bar of soap, and then Mulligan’s baffled face. In the very same moment, joyous, criminal laughter erupted from their stomachs and out their smiling mouths.

They all cried as they ran back to the inn. And they were still crying when they snuck into their rooms to laugh about their idiotic friend who had the good sense to laugh with them.

Fast forward to Laurens’ confession.

. . .

Alexander was slack-jawed.

“That actually happened?”

Laurens looked away from Alexander’s wide eyes in shame.

“Yes, and I’m so sorry. I should have told you earlier, or even better not done it at all. So, if you want me to leave right now, I will.”

In a moment of déjà vu, although it was really just a mirrored scene, Laurens thought Alexander would find him repugnant now.

Alexander proved him wrong. His laughter rang so loudly through the room the thunder was a whisper to his hysterics.

Laurens was relieved to hear this, and he accompanied the jaunty notes with his own.

Alexander’s laughter finally died down and ended with a wide smile. Also seen on Laurens’ face.

Alexander sighed, and said, “I forgive you.”

Laurens’ eyes were bright as he thought, ‘I’m in the clear.’

But he was wrong.

Alexander opened his mouth to speak.

“Also, at the beginning of the story when you were talking about how you wanted to get me in front of a crowd...” He rested a hand on his propped fist and continued. “I tried telling you this earlier, but Lafayette and Mulligan interrupted me. I heard what you said before that.”

Laurens could no longer move.

“Heard what?”

Alexander leaned closer to Laurens, so he was only a foot away from his face.

“Laurens?” Alexander smirked. “You’re breathtaking, and I’ve never met anyone like you.”


	7. A. E. P. Schuyler

Anxious-nervous or anxious-excited? 

Angelica Schuyler and her younger sister, Eliza, identified with the latter. The youngest of the three, named Peggy, preferred the former. 

These three sisters lived a life of luxury and ease because of their father’s position in life. Philip Schuyler loved his daughters with all of his heart. He wanted the best for their welfare, so he set them on a path of knowledge and prosperity. 

Philip wanted his daughters to experience life outside of a mansion. To grant them this wish, he let them go into town unsupervised with two simple rules: do not go downtown and be home before dark. Rules so easy to follow, even a born and raised anarchist could obey. 

Apparently, his daughters were much worse than life-long anarchists. 

. . . 

The three girls were about to embark on an adventure. Like I said before, Angelica and Eliza were itching to be outside, but Peggy might have been more comfortable waiting in the carriage. 

"We shouldn’t be doing this...” 

Peggy’s unenthused attitude radiated from her skin in waves infecting her carefree sister, Angelica. Angelica wrapped her arm around Peggy’s shoulder, joining a reluctant Peggy on a slow walk through a thick mass. 

“You don’t have to worry,” Angelica tried smiling as a gesture of reassurance and leisure. “Daddy will never find out. He doesn’t need to know our every move. So, why don’t you look around and see if you find anything that interests you? If you need something, Eliza and I will be right here.” 

Peggy tilted her chin upward at her sister, Angelica, and rolled her eyes. 

“I’m not a child anymore, Angelica. I just think we should be cautious. But whatever, I would love to take our father’s orders and spit on them! Best day of my life!” 

Peggy’s crazed and overwhelmingly sarcastic expression found its way to a group of soldiers. She had discovered something that interested her. 

Eliza watched the interaction with an amused smile. She caught up with Angelica and stood at her side as they strolled past endless numbers of different stores and shops. All the colors, fabrics, food, and people made Eliza’s head spin with excitement. She happily joined her sisters on their brief expedition out of their comfort zone. She, however, had no specific goals when wandering through town. 

“Angelica, remind me what we’re looking for?” 

As Eliza relayed her question to her sister, who couldn’t seem to focus on a single object or person, a young man bumped shoulders with Eliza and matched her stride. 

“She’s looking for me,” he said, winking slower than most would. 

Eliza scrunched her face and backed away from the irritation, no older than sixteen. 

Angelica raised an eyebrow at the child and waved him away with a single flick of her hand. She turned to face Eliza with an answer on the tip of her tongue. 

“Eliza, I’m looking for a mind at work.” 

While the adolescent boy had left, he was promptly replaced by a rather handsome, but overconfident man in wine-red and white. 

“Mmm, mm! Nothing like summer in the city, huh?” His dark eyes scanned Angelica up and down. Drinking in as much of the gorgeous woman as he could. 

Angelica hadn’t time for overzealous distractions like him, but she loved to entertain herself every once in a while. 

“Do you have a name to match that stare, or do you want me to guess?” 

Eliza loved her sister. 

The man you have already met dipped his head in greeting. 

“Aaron Burr, at your service.” 

Angelica pursed her lips. 

“Okay, then.” 

Angelica took Eliza’s arm in hers and walked past Burr without a second thought. 

Burr had a second thought. 

“What are you lovely women doing here, anyway?” This question turned Angelica and Eliza’s heads back to Burr. “Why are you slumming it in your fancy heels when you clearly have other things you could be doing? Not only do you just look like you got all the money in the world, but your perfume smells like it too.” 

He gained a few steps closer to Angelica taking his sweet time to study her long, pink dress, then continued. 

“Your daddy buy that for you?” 

Eliza wasn’t sure at this moment whether or not Burr realized he was insulting Angelica or if he was complimenting her. 

Eliza thought to herself: 'does he want to get slapped or does he want to get dinner?' 

She didn’t think dinner was ever an option in Angelica’s mind, so naturally, this was a one-sided conversation. 

One side likes the other, and the other does not. 

Angelica took the last few steps closer to Burr to put them face to face. 

“Burr, you disgust me.” 

Her words were threaded with annoyance and repulsion. 

“Ah, so you’ve discussed me?” His words dripping with mirth and dalliance. “I’m a trust fund, baby, you can trust me.” 

Eliza stepped away from her sister recognizing a determination in her sister’s eyes she had seen many a time before. Angelica would want her space to speak and be heard, and Eliza would always respect her wishes. 

Angelica pushed Burr to the side, then whipped her head to glare at him in his new position, chosen by her. 

“Sir, you must think I came to this town looking for a man to please me, or teach me, or show me his dreams that I’d gladly pursue with him.” She straightened her posture and lifted her chin a half of an inch. “Find yourself sorely disappointed because I do not need a man to lead me. I don’t need men; men need me.” 

A few bystanders stopped to listen to this juicy argument they didn’t list on their agenda for today. 

Burr’s eyes widened in shock but also respect for a woman he stereotyped as uptight and privileged with a “holier-than-thou" attitude. 

Angelica ignored his newfound respect because she didn’t care for his thoughts of her. 

“I’ve been reading Common Sense by Thomas Paine. He has a wide set of beliefs that more people should be paying attention to. And because of my belief system, not far off from Paine’s, men call me “intense” and “insane”.” Angelica scoffed in Burr’s direction. An affront to his proud masculinity. “You want a revolution? I want a revelation. “We hold these truths to be self-evident that all men are created equal.” And when I meet Thomas Jefferson?” 

Eliza and Peggy, who had joined the fray moments ago, made a sound of cheer and encouragement spelled like, “Unh!” 

Angelica glanced at her sisters and gave them a brief smile of gratitude before she ended her speech with, “I’m ‘a compel him to include women in the sequel!” 

Peggy leaned into Eliza and whispered, “Work!” 

Eliza giggled at her sister’s antics. 

'Only one year younger, and yet she’s so like me.'

Eliza’s thoughts were interrupted by the applause and whooping of women present for Angelica’s declaration. Burr was whisked away by his amused saviors named Lafayette and Mulligan. 

Burr was not seen again. 

Angelica grabbed her sisters by the shoulders and pulled them into a half-circle of victory. 

Her eyes drifted from Peggy to Eliza. 

“Look around, my dear, dear sisters,” she said. “History is happening in Manhattan.” 

Peggy tore her attention away to a handsome, dark-haired, dark-skinned soldier passing by. 

She sighed then said, “Ah, the greatest city in the world.” 

Eliza smirked. 

“Are you planning on talking to him?” 

Peggy shook her head. 

“No, I’d rather just stare at him until he feels my eyes burning a hole into his head, and then he’ll feel this unexplainable, but completely understandable urge to walk over to me, get on one knee, then propose.” She shrugged causing her sisters’ arms to move with her. “After all, it’s only fair.” 

Peggy let her eyes wander around the crowd. She heard her sisters conversing about something, but she didn’t care much for what “something” was. She let her arm slink away from Angelica’s embrace and looked behind her to explore the unknown faces. Anonymity must be beautiful for these people. Peggy had never experienced a wondrous opportunity like the life of a passing picture. Someone you see once, and never think of again. 

While she was lesser known to the masses because of her charming and charismatic sisters, she continued to have a face recognizable anywhere. And she hated it. If only someone could look at her, and ask her, “what’s your name, miss?”. 

'A dream that will never come true, it seems.' 

In the next moment, she begged the king of the heavens her face would be mistaken for another’s when she caught the eyes of her father, Philip Schuyler. 

She cranked her head to face forward, which snapped Angelica and Eliza out of whatever conversation they were having, and to Peggy’s alarmed expression. 

Eliza took the first chance to understand her sister’s change in behavior. 

“Is something wrong?” 

Peggy opened her mouth a centimeter to mumble her next words. 

“Start walking, now.” 

Angelica flattened her brows and tightened her lips. 

“Why are we walking?” 

Eliza didn’t seem to have the same problem, as she began walking by Peggy’s side immediately. She knew Peggy wouldn’t act like this in any normal, placid situation, so there must be a good reason. 

Peggy didn’t reply, but Eliza relayed the message of urgency to Angelica through a glance. Angelica may not always trust Peggy’s intentions, but she knew Eliza like she knew her own mind. She could always rely on her instincts. 

Angelica jogged to catch up to her sisters and huddled in close. 

Eliza nudged Peggy to widen her tunnel vision. 

“So, why are we walking?” 

“Because I’m smarter than both of you. Because I knew that this was a bad idea, and I am here before you standing corrected.” Peggy wanted to turn around and see if her father had registered her face or her and her sisters’ silhouette’s by now, but she was too afraid. “Don’t look now, but our father is behind us by the store selling flowers.” 

Angelica and Eliza craned their necks to see their father facing away from them, putting together a white and pink bouquet with a giddy smile on his face. 

Angelica picked up the pace and led her sisters to their carriage. 

As they hurriedly tumbled into their seats, Eliza closed the door, then put her hand on Peggy’s knee. 

“You were right, Peggy.” 

Angelica rolled her eyes. 

“Yeah, for once.”


	8. H. Mulligan

What emotion, what feeling can cause someone to do unimaginable acts unprecedented in their normal behavior? What can infect a usually civil man or woman like a disease until they are willing to lie, cheat, steal, and even murder, to get what they need? 

Everyone has been plagued by this detestable feeling before. Not a single human person can escape its wrath forever. It is one of the four horsemen of the apocalypse. 

I’m sure you can guess what, or who, now. 

The horseman in love with the Snickers phrase, “you’re not you when you’re hungry.” 

Famine. 

This horseman haunted Hercules Mulligan at the crisp hour of eight-thirty in the morning. He awoke with one thought on his mind. 

'Where is Laurens?' 

At seven-thirty to eight o’clock, every morning since Laurens, Lafayette, and Mulligan had been holed up in the bed and breakfast of New York, Laurens had gotten up at seven to awaken his friends with breakfast either in his hands, on their writing desk, or downstairs ready to be served themselves. Even if this morning was a morning Mulligan and Lafayette would do the hard work on their own, Laurens would have still come to both of their rooms and ripped them away from their peaceful sleep. 

Mulligan may have always expressed a disgruntled and nonplussed attitude every morning that Laurens opened his curtains to blind him out of bed, but he still appreciated the thoughtfulness Laurens had for him. Especially because he also knew that Laurens was even less thrilled by the morning than him. 

Laurens cared for his companions with a compassion Mulligan had never seen in another person. While Lafayette came in a close second, Laurens outshone every competitor with bright eyes and an honest smile. 

Therefore, this morning’s lack of a punctual Laurens left Mulligan disturbed. 

He carelessly dressed himself and walked out of his room. A dreamless sleep tempted his half-open eyes and yawning mouth, yet Mulligan prevailed. He would always be victorious against his oppressors no matter the squall. 

The floor whined under his heavy, reckless steps. He had to place a hand on the hallway’s right wall to steady himself. He stalked through the empty passage hoping not to wake anyone in the process but failed. A door to his left creaked as it opened. Mulligan froze, waiting for whoever’s head would pop out from behind the door until he remembered whose door that belonged to. And just as he remembered, a poofy-haired, hungover Lafayette peered in Mulligan’s direction. 

“I thought you were Laurens coming to give me food and companionship, but instead I find an oak tree standing before me,” Lafayette squinted at Mulligan. “Why are you sneaking around the halls, Mulligan?” 

Mulligan thawed and walked over to Lafayette, who wore nothing but a thin white sheet. 

“It’s eight-thirty and Laurens hasn’t come to my room yet, so I was gonna go to his room and see what he was doing.” 

Lafayette hummed and looked to his right. 

“Okay, you’ve convinced me. I’ll come with you.” 

“You’re naked. You know that, right?” 

Mulligan narrowed his eyes at his friend’s poor excuse for a covering. 

“Just because it isn’t conventional, doesn’t mean it doesn’t work.” He shuffled into the hallway, holding his sheet, wrapped around his shoulders, up to his neck. “Now, let’s go check in on our little Laurens.” 

Mulligan groaned and rolled his eyes. Despite his irritated condition, he trudged over to Laurens’ door and knocked. Lafayette stood directly behind him as they patiently waited for an answer. Well, I say patiently to put it nicely, but Mulligan did not share a tempered feeling in any way when he knocked for a second time. 

Mulligan turned to his left to face Lafayette. 

“I’m not gonna knock again, Laf.” 

“Then don’t, Herc.” 

Mulligan nodded, then twisted the doorknob of Laurens’ room. The third creaky door of Mulligan’s morning inundated his senses. 

First, they saw a bed. A bed without a comforter and no one in it. Second, there was a window left uncloaked by curtains. And third, there was a mess of clothes on the floor, also, with no one in them. 

Mulligan walked into the abandoned room and searched for any signs of Laurens’ unknown whereabouts. Lafayette began his investigation as well. Both pacing from a space with no clues to a place without clues. 

Lafayette huffed and put his hands on his hips. Because of his presently distracted mind, his sheet would have plummeted to the floor if not for Lafayette’s reflexes always ready to pick up falling pieces. Although, despite them always being ready, they were not always loyal. Fortunately for Lafayette, today they were faithful to his cause. 

Mulligan did not notice Lafayette’s mishap as he stood with bent arms, open hands, and a perplexed grimace. 

“Where the hell is he?” 

Lafayette shrugged, then said, “Maybe Hamilton knows?” 

Mulligan ran a hand along his cropped hair. 

“Yeah, let’s go.” 

Mulligan and Lafayette walked out of Laurens’ room, sans Laurens, and made their way to Alexander’s door. Without a knock, a tap, or a rap, Mulligan swung open the entrance leaving everything, and everyone on Alexander’s bed exposed. 

The door did not hit the wall, thanks to Mulligan’s hand still stuck to the knob. No sound was made as Lafayette and Mulligan remained motionless in the passageway. 

The image naked to their eyes glued their feet to the floor. Another image also naked was Lafayette, who had dropped his thin, almost transparent sheet to the ground. 

“Pick it up, Laf.” 

Lafayette crouched low and grabbed his pathetic replacement for clothing off of the wooden floors. 

Mulligan slowly closed the door, that, for the first time did not squeal when touched. 

Lafayette stared wide-eyed at the now-closed door. The same door hiding a scene all the while shocking, yet entertaining. 

Mulligan watched Lafayette’s lips curl into a smile, and he knew he was about to say something obvious. 

“I guess we know where Laurens is.” 

Mulligan stared blankly at Lafayette. 

Lafayette gazed innocently back into Mulligan’s eyes. He batted his eyelashes in quick succession then flashed a smile. 

“Shall we gather breakfast for the slumbering couple?” 

Mulligan grazed his chin and began to walk away from Lafayette through the hall, to the left, and down the stairs. 

Lafayette ran to his room, changed into clothes, and sprinted following the same set of directions to catch up with Mulligan. Mulligan was walking out of the bed and breakfast when Lafayette finally reached him. 

“Hey, you can’t just walk off without me and not say anything, idiot!” 

Lafayette slapped Mulligan’s shoulder with a scowl painted on his face. 

Mulligan just chuckled and dropped his gaze to the floor before looking directly into Lafayette’s eyes. 

“Yeah, I can.” 

Mulligan and Lafayette strolled through downtown Manhattan and ended their journey when they found a small bakery with its door open. 

'Finally,' Mulligan thought. 

Fresh bread and pastries pulled out of a steaming oven with gloved hands. Different combinations of smells wafting into the noses of Lafayette and Mulligan. Every single delicacy was golden brown and perfect. Loaves and baguettes crunching when you hold them in your hands. A distinguished crackle filling your ears. Butter and flour nestled in the crooks of the hands of the bakers. An embrace of beauty and fragility. 

As the skilled bakers deserved, their work never warmed a dissatisfied mouth. 

Mulligan imagined a knot of meticulously braided brioche, summery and soft, tempting his tastebuds. A simple recipe Lafayette had made for him the first night they encountered each other alone. A gesture so pure Mulligan was left with a friend he would never imagine departing. Lafayette had gifted Mulligan a kindness he never forgot and could never repay. He knew that Lafayette would always be lost from the true story of why that token meant so much to him, and Mulligan planned on keeping it that way. 

Mulligan stared at the uninformed loaf with adoration. The bread was almost as sweet as the memory, but the combination of the two was sanctification to his lips, his tongue, and his stomach. On account of how long Mulligan had been beaming at the bread, it was a surprise he didn’t notice Lafayette purchase two orders of the brioche and two French baguettes. He also didn’t notice Lafayette was now standing right next to him with two paper bags occupying his hands until Lafayette rested his chin on Mulligan’s shoulder. 

Mulligan sucked in a breath. He couldn’t rationalize why Lafayette showed him affection and decency relentlessly without any expectation of reward or gratification. 

Mulligan restrained his contented heart and bounced his shoulder to rid himself of Lafayette’s extension of grace. Lafayette laughed at his friend’s resistance to his sentiment but respected his wishes. 

The two couldn’t wait until the walk back to the inn, so they found an unattended bench and began to devour their food. Before Lafayette began to wolf his down, he ordered two coffees from the café nearby and placed one by his feet and one by Mulligan. 

“Mmm, so,” Lafayette began with a mouth full of bread. “What will we do about the you-know-what in the you-know-whose bedroom?” 

Mulligan simpered and shifted to face Lafayette. 

“You mean, what will we do about the fact that we saw Hamilton wrapped up in Laurens’ arms, basically getting big-spooned on a twin bed in Hamilton’s room, while both were almost butt-ass naked and holding hands, even though you kind of suspected they were jacking each other off a second ago?” 

Lafayette couldn’t hold in his poorly-timed laugh, which caused a quite large, partially chewed piece of baguette to fly out of his mouth and onto the ground. 

“Oh, mon Dieu,” Lafayette did not gain a sliver of composure before he finished with, “oui.” 

Mulligan straightened in his seat. 

“Well, you’ve always got great plans that never fail, so lemme hear one of those,” Mulligan said. 

Lafayette rolled his eyes. 

“I think we should talk to both of them separately, so we can see how one feels about the other and see if they’re presently or planning on fucking and/or making love.” 

Mulligan groaned. 

“Why do all of your plans involve interfering with someone else’s life? Can’t they just figure this shit out themselves?” 

“Of course not, Hercules!” Lafayette spoke with determination. 

Mulligan glared at Lafayette’s excited air, wishing he could dissipate the positive vibes with a single blow. 

“Why the fuck not?” 

Lafayette stuck his arms in the air with a grin too eager for Mulligan’s liking. 

“Because it’s more fun this way.” 

Lafayette’s delight with his own scheming, trickster ways was interrupted by a cheering crowd of women only a couple hundred feet away from him. 

Mulligan pointed out a frozen Burr getting chewed out by a familiar voice. 

“Ah, this is perfection,” Lafayette said, leaning his back against the bench. 

Mulligan cocked his head at Lafayette. 

“You don’t want to help a man in need?” 

“Burr is the worst, so no I do not want to help him.” 

Mulligan stared at Lafayette for a minute before grabbing the paper bag with one brioche left for Laurens and Alexander, and his coffee then stood over his friend. 

“Come on, I know you don’t want to, but think of it like this: he’ll owe us now.” 

Lafayette perked up and immediately left the bench. 

“Fine, but we do this, and then we return to the inn and follow through with my plan.” 

“Yes, sir,” Mulligan said, saluting to a conflicted Lafayette. 

Lafayette glared at Mulligan, then delivered a statement guaranteed to piss off Mulligan all the while a self-satisfied grin perched on his features. 

“Whatever you say, princess.”


	9. H. Mulligan

There they were. 

Laurens and Alexander, fully dressed this time and giggling like children. Heads lurching toward each other as if there was some terrible secret they knew about, and no one else could hear. 

Lafayette must have noticed the vacancy in the lounge area, except for the star-crossed lovers, as well, or else he would not have done what he chose to do in the first moments he entered the bed and breakfast. 

Mulligan did not choose to jump or move out of the way when Lafayette hurled the paper bag, still containing a brioche and a baguette, over his head and onto Laurens’ lap. Well, it went into his lap eventually, but it began its downfall from point A: Laurens’ face. 

“Aye! What the hell was that for?” Laurens seemed as if he was waiting for an answer from Lafayette, but before Lafayette could reply, Laurens took the half-eaten apple he was enjoying and skillfully pitched it to Lafayette’s haughty grin. 

He hit his target. 

The only rebuttal Lafayette could muster was a high-pitched yelp followed by an expression reading, “You really want to do this, apple boy?” 

Lafayette took his shoe off, and Laurens grabbed the paper bag, still containing a baguette and a brioche, aiming and ready to fire. 

The battle of... not wits careened to an abrupt stop when Mulligan ripped Lafayette’s shoe away from him, snatched the paper bag out of the air a second before it hit Lafayette, and used his low, “I’m in charge” voice to say, “You guys are idiots.” 

Mulligan’s stern commandment fell short when Alexander’s laughter reigned free. 

Laurens turned away from Mulligan to smile at Alexander’s amusement. Alexander beamed at Laurens. Mulligan and Lafayette watched this exchange with a knowing expression shared between the two of them. 

Mulligan cleared his throat, then waved a “follow me” to Lafayette. They sat down on plush, brown leather chairs in front of Laurens and Alexander. Laurens found his seat, and a civil conversation began. 

“Little boy,” Lafayette caught Laurens’ attention, “There’s food for you and Hamilton in that bag you thoughtlessly chucked at me.” 

A sweet and completely authentic smile inched its way onto Laurens’ face. 

“Babyyy,” Laurens patted Lafayette on the head, “If you’re hurt, then you can just say that. Would you like me to apologize?” 

Two years ago, Lafayette dated an actress of great renown. They loved each other but separated because Lafayette decided he wanted to go to America to fight in the revolution. While they were still happily together, the actress taught Lafayette different acting techniques. Little tips and tricks if he ever found himself in a situation where they would be needed. One skill she offered him was how to cry on command. This was one of Lafayette’s favorites, which was why his cheeks were running with two streams of tears. One stream just as sad as the other. And as fake. 

Lafayette wiped away his tears, and replied with a feeble, “yes.” 

“Ugh,” Mulligan groaned and turned to the weeping adult next to him. “We’ve got things that need to be taken care of, Laf.” He tilted his head, “Remember?” 

Mulligan noticed the glazed looks in Laurens and Alexander but chose to wait for Lafayette to move the conversation along. 

Lafayette cleared his throat, put on a smile that KO’ed the puffy, red eyes with a left hook (Southpaws, am I right?), and stood up. 

“Hamilton,” he straightened his coat, “I think you know what time it is.” 

Alexander rose to his feet to look up at Lafayette with a frown. 

“I don’t think I do,” Alexander said as curiosity and elation hinted at the timbre of his voice. 

Lafayette slammed his hand onto Alexander’s right shoulder and pushed. He used his other hand to guide the stumbling Alexander toward the entrance of the bed and breakfast. 

As Lafayette put an arm around Alexander, Mulligan saw and heard four things causing a reluctant smile to grace his features. 

Lafayette kicked open the doors with enough enthusiasm to snap the door off its hinges. He patted Alexander’s cheek with his free hand, and said, “It is time to take you shopping, of course!” 

Alexander whipped his head around in his last moments isolated from the outside world to glance at Laurens with furrowed brows, a strained grin, and a shrug of his shoulders. 

A triple threat according to Laurens’ barely noticeable flushed cheeks and gushing smile. 

Mulligan left the comfort of his seat, which tore Laurens’ attention away from his lover- wait, sorry, his friend, and to his other friend looming over him. 

“What’s going on?” Laurens inquired. 

Mulligan took a deep breath, almost as if to gain the courage and/or will to follow through with his assignment. 

“Follow me.” 

Laurens didn’t move. 

“Why?” 

Regret captured Mulligan’s being in a booby trap made of rope and frustration. 

“Why, what? Just follow me.” 

Laurens smirked at the obvious negative emotions bubbling to the surface in Mulligan’s poorly-crafted façade. He leaned back in his oh-so-comfortable chair, making himself one-hundred percent more relaxed. 

He sighed and closed his eyes. 

“I think I’ll stay here.” 

One undeniably authentic yawn later... 

“Why? Is there something you need to tell me?” 

Mulligan stood much taller than Laurens, whether Laurens was seated or not, yet, at this time, Mulligan had to take several steps back and bend his neck back to admire the towering monstrosity named John Laurens’ ego. 

Mulligan knew the single phrase available to his vocals with the power to take a wrecking ball to Laurens’ overconfident, cocky attitude. Mulligan needed a second to revel in the calm before the storm. Before the bewilderment and destruction and sheer, I don’t know, terror? Yes, terror, Laurens was about to encounter. 

Mulligan loaded his revolver with one bullet. He was born with the luck of the Irish, meaning he could never lose at any form of gambling. Russian Roulette just so happened to be a risk he was willing to take. Although, it did help the gun would never be pointed back at him. No, not him, just the barking dog, vulnerable and unassuming, sitting directly in front of him. 

'One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten.' 

He fired. 

“So, I heard you fucked Hamilton.” 

Mulligan heard the sweet sound of Laurens’ breath being taken away. Getting shot can really do that to a person, you know? Despite Mulligan’s satisfaction, an ounce of concern pondered his mind when the silence continued for much longer than he expected. 

'Is he breathing? Is he going to survive this?' Mulligan rolled his eyes at his own thoughts. He then imagined what it would be like to break the news of Laurens’ untimely death to his boyfriend. The simple question popped into his head like a... haha, like a bullet. 

'Alexander, did you know? Wait, what the hell am I thinking? I’d say Hamilton, not Ale-' 

Laurens discovered oxygen. His eyes snapped open, and he strayed from his resting place. 

With wide eyes and the backs of his fingers grazing his jawline, he uttered, “Follow you... where?” 

Mulligan chuckled briefly; 'I win.' 

“Just follow me.” 

Mulligan sauntered through the doors, previously assaulted by Lafayette, across the street, and into a large, flourishing park. Mulligan slipped through the clusters of trees and people and found a well-endowed pond in the middle of the park. An unlikely story that Mulligan and Laurens happened to be the only people surrounding it, but Mulligan couldn’t complain. He wasn’t a huge fan of people, anyway. 

He dropped his gaze to the water to see his reflection, rippling and askew, accompanied by the twisting, swirling face of Laurens. 

After a few moments of joint appreciation of the wildlife and greenery occupying their vision, both decided to put the silence to sleep. 

Laurens thought the best ice-breaker was: “That fish is really cute,” while Mulligan trusted an abridged version of the phrase he already used, “You fucked Hamilton.” 

Even though Mulligan knew the road he wished the conversation to travel, he still commented on Laurens’ statement. 

He pointed at the fish Laurens complimented: small, orange, and white. 

“That fish isn’t cute,” he directed his hand to the fish next to the “cute” one. “That fish is cute.” 

Mulligan’s pick of the crop was an even smaller, black, orange, and white fish. 

“Huh,” Laurens cocked his head. “I think I’d have to agree wi-” 

Mulligan interrupted. 

“You know what I came here to talk about, and you know it wasn’t fish.” 

Laurens huffed. However much he wanted to justify why fish was a good topic to converse, he was obligated to defend himself on a different case. 

“I didn’t fuck Hamilton.” 

Mulligan clasped his hands behind him. 

“Yeah, you did. Go ahead, admit it.” 

Laurens crossed his arms over his chest and delivered a strong argument. 

“You think I wouldn’t know if I did? Well, I would, and I didn’t.” 

I don’t know how Mulligan can beat that, but let’s see where this goes. 

“Maybe you didn’t fuck him, but I know you weren’t just sleeping.” 

“How would you-” Laurens caught himself. How could Mulligan have known they slept in the same bed? “Were you watching us?” 

Mulligan shifted his feet, so he was facing Laurens completely. He stared into Laurens’ eyes and made a “hmmm” sound. 

“So, no denial then? Interesting...” 

Laurens uncrossed one of his arms and threw it to the side. 

“No denial?” He took a step back in shock at Mulligan’s controversial statement. “I just denied it like three times!” 

Mulligan smirked. 

“Wow, are you alright? You sound like you’re getting a little defensive there. You know what that means...” 

Mulligan couldn’t be enjoying himself more. While Mulligan was the north pole, Laurens was the south. 

Get it? Because they’re polar opposites? 

Yeah, anyway, Laurens wasn’t having it. 

“Well, alright. Maybe you saw us sleeping-” 

“Wasn’t just me.” 

Laurens slapped a palm to his forehead and sighed. 

“Lafayette?” 

“Yeah.” 

“That makes sense.” Laurens rubbed his temples with one hand and scanned the area around him before plopping down at the edge of the pond. 

Mulligan understood the urge, so he followed suit. 

Mulligan looked to the sky to notify himself of the time. The sun was setting, but it was covered by a passing cloud. 

'Ah, so it’s afternoon then.' 

Mulligan let his focus drift back to a stressed Laurens. He sympathized because no matter how much he loved to irk his friends, this wasn’t exactly an easy situation for anyone. 

Laurens laid on his back to stare at the pink and orange sky. It calmed him. 

“So, you saw us sleeping,” Laurens placed his hands over his heart. “I’m not trying to hide anything when I say that’s all that happened.” 

Mulligan laid next to Laurens. 

“But you wanted something else to happen.” 

Laurens readied a protest, but he recognized the lie before it even had to leave his mouth. 

“Even if I did it wouldn’t matter.” 

Mulligan frowned. He propped himself on his right side to look down at Laurens. He didn’t read as defensive or nervous anymore. Just... sad. Mulligan used the best coping mechanism he knew to help Laurens. A soft kick to the side of the leg. 

“Ow.” The distressed and disappointed Laurens transformed into confused Laurens. 

Mulligan knew his plan would work. 

“Come on, Laurens,” Mulligan tried to coax any fragment of hope or relief into Lauren’s system. “It does matter.” 

Laurens opened his eyes and transitioned to his left side to face Mulligan. He looked into Mulligan’s eyes for a second, then looked to the grass under, and between them. He picked a flower and held it with his pointer finger and thumb, stroking its petals to distract his hands from the pressure on his heart. 

“Herc?” 

“What is it?” 

Laurens tucked the dainty, white flower behind his ear. 

“How did you know I...” Laurens couldn’t bear to finish the sentence, and Mulligan understood why perfectly. He wouldn’t want to make his friend feel insecure in his presence, so he finished Laurens’ question for him. 

“liked guys?” 

“Yeah.” 

Mulligan reached over and plucked the flower from behind Laurens’ ear. 

“Little things, mostly.” 

Laurens stifled a laugh. 

“Hey, liking flowers doesn’t equal liking men,” Laurens said. 

Mulligan twirled the flower in his fingers before putting it behind his ear. 

“You’re right, it doesn’t.” 

Laurens froze. 

“You’re not trying to tell me something, are you?” 

Mulligan groaned and threw the flower at Laurens’ forehead. 

“I was helping prove your point, dumbass, not trying to come out.” 

“Alright, alright, I get it,” Laurens said as he held his hands up in surrender. “I’ll never say that again, I promise.” 

They drank another glass of silence, along with an appetizer of ease. Mulligan laid his head on the grass, and Laurens did the same. The same sky above them, with invisible eyes staring down. Mulligan felt as if he was underwater. A warm sea with colors folding over each other in waves. By the horizon, the shore of this painting. A soft yellow, not pale and blinding, but heated by heaven’s hearth. A yellow containing the ultimately strived for emotion of happiness within your grasp. A yellow that can bring tears to your eyes because it is so forgiving of indiscretions and harmful deeds. This yellow only lasted for a second, though. An inch out of a mile because it morphed into orange without hesitation. 

This orange was not like fire or any orange mass-produced in clothing and trinkets. Mimicry in a tailor-made suit of deception. Mulligan hated oranges like those, but this could be drunk in for a lifetime. The embrace of this shade was that of a friend. Like Lafayette or Laurens. Maybe it could not compare to that feeling, but it came very close. 

Musical affections lifted into pink, then purple, and then a dark blue almost out of sight from Mulligan because his body directed toward the collapsing sunset. He glanced at Laurens’ face to see the brilliant hues dance across his features. Most noticeable on his cheeks adorned with a glowing blush of golden hour's finest. 

Mulligan set down the glass of silence but continued to eat to stay at ease. 

“I knew because I’ve seen how men have looked at you, and how you look at them.” 

The blush on Laurens’ cheeks melted from sun-lit, honey tones to a ripe peach. 

“Not that many men.” Laurens attempted to shy away from the sudden attention to his past flirtations. 

Mulligan scoffed at this. 

“Not that many? Laurens, every man, and woman adore you the second they meet you. You don’t have a single unlikeable trait because even your flaws make you more perfect.” 

Laurens fiddled his fingers. 

“That's what you think of me?” 

Mulligan laughed. 

“Yeah. You’re my friend, so there you go.” Mulligan cleared his throat. “But if you repeat this, I beat you into the ground, you got it?” 

Laurens handed the now, crumpled white flower to Mulligan. 

“Your secret is safe with me.” 

“Ugh, yeah, now, back to you. Considering all the guys you attract, I gotta know...” Mulligan stroked his chin. “How many guys have you had sex with, now?” 

Laurens groaned. 

“Really?” 

“Mmhmm.” 

“Why are you so calm about all of this, anyway? You don’t care I’m breaking a law?” 

Mulligan shook his head. 

“Laurens, we’re soldiers, not lawmen. Who gives a fuck about the rules as long as you’re not hurting anyone?” Mulligan paused then raised an eyebrow. “Unless...” 

Laurens sat up to try and hide his growing embarrassment. 

“Shut up, Mulligan.” 

Mulligan chose the unsaid option, which was to continue to pester Laurens. 

“So, tell me. Come on, how many? How manyyyyy?” Mulligan sat up and shoved Laurens lightly to the side. Laurens teetered back and forth like a sapling in the wind. “One? Two? Three? How about, four?” 

Laurens held his face in his hands. The heat emanating from his skin was like a sauna to his chilled hands. 

“If I tell you, will you shut the fuck up?” 

Mulligan cocked his head. 

“Didn’t you hear my question? Because that’s what I wanted this whole time.” 

Laurens brought his knees to his chest, then wrapped his arms around his legs. 

“Overall, it’s been about,” he propped his head on his left knee, so he could still look at Mulligan, “zero.” 

“Zero? All these men all over you and the answer is zero, really?” 

“Hey, there’s nothing wrong with that.” 

“Well, no, there isn’t. I just thought you would have by now,” Mulligan said as he tore bundles of grass out of the ground. “Why haven’t you?” 

Laurens lifted his head and held his gaze with Mulligan. 

“Because I only have sex with people I have feelings for, and I haven’t found a guy I’ve really liked yet. I’ve, you know, messed around with guys a little, but never all the way.” 

Mulligan nodded. 

“Alright, I can see that, but I have another question,” he scratched the back of his head before he asked, “If you like guys, then why have I seen you talking to girls, too?” 

Laurens laughed awkwardly. 

“Oh, uh, that’s because I don’t just like one, you know? I think both are pretty cool.” 

Mulligan stood up to be enveloped by the last few seconds of evening warmth, then illuminated under a cool, gray moon. He extended his hand to Laurens, and as Laurens wrapped his hand around Mulligan’s, Mulligan pulled him to his feet. 

“Can’t believe you’re horny for men and women, and you’re still alone.” 

“I hate you so much,” Laurens said. Although, his sliver of a smile said differently. 

Mulligan began their walk back to the inn. 

“You know Hamilton’s in love with you, though, right?” 

Laurens trotted to catch up to Mulligan, then fell into place. 

“He’s not like me, Herc,” Laurens shrugged his shoulders, then sighed, “He just thinks of me as a friend.” 

Mulligan wrapped an arm around Laurens’ shoulders. 

“And you don’t.” 

“What do you want me to say?” The intro to Laurens’ ranting was defensive until Laurens had an idea. “Do you want me to tell you every thought I’ve had about him?” 

Mulligan narrowed his eyes at Laurens. 

“Do you want me to tell you how I’ve thought about grabbing him by the waist and pushing him against a wall? How long I’ve wanted to kiss his lips, then his neck, and move further and further down-” 

Mulligan ripped his arm away from Laurens to cover his ears. 

“Stop- stop! I don’t want to hear that shit, Laurens, fuck off!” 

Laurens couldn’t hold back his laughter at poor Mulligan having to almost run away from his dirty-minded friend. 

Mulligan returned to Laurens’ side when his annoying laughter finally died down, and he had produced a suggestion to counter Laurens’ erotic ranting. 

“So, you want Hamilton to fuck you every night, is that it?” 

A smirk so arrogant and cavalier plastered itself atop Laurens’ already self-satisfied expression, that Mulligan began to feel unsteady in anticipation of Laurens’ next words. 

“Aha, actually...” Laurens bit his lip. “You might want to turn that around.” 

Mulligan blinked as his eyelids were the only part of his body still in motion. 

“Wait, you’re a top?” 

. . . 

Lafayette would have fallen out of his chair if it wasn’t for Mulligan’s arms at the ready. 

Mulligan set Lafayette back in his chair and sat on his bed across from Lafayette. 

“Mon Dieu,” Lafayette sucked in a breath, “Laurens, little Laurens, is a top?” 

Mulligan laid back in his bed to admire the waves of vibrant pigments above him when he remembered he was back in his room staring at a pathetic, white ceiling. 

He sat back up to look at Lafayette, the best view he could find, and said, “I know, right? I never would have guessed that either.”


	10. M. Lafayette

Lafayette tapped his fingers on his head, resting in the palm of his hand. Generally, Lafayette’s patience wore thin in a normal amount of time. If a situation he was stuck in became boring, his desire to leave would activate, so he would. If a person took longer than needed to fulfill a task, or get from point A to point B, then Lafayette’s restlessness would awaken, and he would persuade said person to hurry. 

Burr sat across from Mulligan and Lafayette droning on about how unnecessary it was to “rescue” him from Angelica Schuyler’s well-articulated wrath. How Burr was thankful for the sentiment but capable of handling himself in front of women therefore not needing any saviors. Especially not the kind of saviors that he placed below him on scales of intellect, tact, and ability to survive in a world as hungry as theirs. 

However, this last detail was not spoken by Burr but gifted contextually to his seething guardian angels. 

“Again, it really was kind of you, but I must be going now,” Burr said, rising from the wooden table and waving goodbye. His smile projected a conversation ended well, yet Lafayette and Mulligan delighted in the end simply because it was over now. 

Mulligan mumbled a “yeah, see you,” under his breath along with a nod. 

Once Burr exited their personal space, Lafayette turned to Mulligan with a glare in his eyes. 

“What did I say?” Lafayette answered his question himself. “I said, Burr is the worst, and we should not help him. And what did Monsieur Mulligan say to the voice of reason?” Lafayette, again, answered his own question. “He’ll owe us now, so let’s go.” 

Lafayette’s voice shifted to a mockery of Mulligan’s lower, American accent. 

“Uh, yeah, so, don’t you love helping people, Lafayette?” His face contorted into a grimace. “Isn’t it the best when you help the one person you hate and then you get the reaction you expected?” 

Mulligan raised his eyebrow, then said, “Yeah, so, back to the plan, then?” 

Lafayette rolled his eyes, even though his interest was immediately roused with a reference to his unfinished plan. 

“Fine, but because Burr clearly isn’t going to repay me, you have to buy me a horse.” Lafayette held his hand up to block any interjections from Mulligan. “This is not up for debate. Thirty minutes of my time has been wasted, and it is up to you to make it up to me.” 

Lafayette paused to debate his fledgling of a plan in his mind. How would he make it happen? What was the best way to handle the “situation” in Alexander’s bedroom, more specifically Alexander’s bed? 

To clear his head, Lafayette abandoned his bench and Mulligan to exit the outdoor seating of the café and onto a trail leading to the edge of the park a half-mile distance from him. Lafayette knew Mulligan needed no explanation to follow him, which is why he left without warning. He chose not to speak to Mulligan who was walking a few paces behind him. 

Mulligan, unbothered by his silence, sunk into the sounds of nature and city leaving Lafayette the undisturbed space to ponder. 

Lafayette internally thanked Mulligan. 

Lafayette and Mulligan’s relationship was simple. A long time had passed, letting their friendship grow exponentially. They understood each other’s mannerisms, pet peeves, coping mechanisms, needs, desires, and ultimately the whole of the other person. Some qualities they possessed balanced each other out, while others doubled in intensity. For example, Mulligan has issues controlling his anger; Lafayette does not. Lafayette is reckless and impulsive, but Mulligan tends to promote logic before his heart’s desires. To understand an emotion they both have little power over, one could take a peek at patience. Neither grasps the handle when their patience is tested. 

Surprisingly enough, when it came to respecting Lafayette’s space, Mulligan’s patience never faltered. 

The trail lessened in length as Lafayette and Mulligan began to approach the park’s beginning. A dry, gravely, dirt road cut off by luscious green. Small wildflowers and a few clusters of trees carefully placed throughout each corner. 

Lafayette reached the end of the dirt road right as his plan had grown into a baby bird ready to fly for the first time. 

Just a few more steps, a hopeful leap out of the comfort of its home, and it flew. 

“Mon ami, I’ve got it!” 

Mulligan filled the gap between them and bumped shoulders with Lafayette. 

“I’m ready, lay it on me.” 

Lafayette smiled as his bird glided through the sky with accomplishment and security under its wings. 

“Here lies Mulligan listening to a very important plan by me,” Lafayette brought his hands together, flattened against one another as if he were praying. “Code name: Project Gay Sex-” 

Mulligan groaned, “No.” 

Lafayette huffed, “Okay, fine: Project “Breakfast didn’t come, but I know who did”.” 

Lafayette winked at Mulligan, so, of course, Mulligan rolled his eyes. 

“That’s too long.” 

“You know what else is too long?” Lafayette raised his eyebrows. 

“Let me guess,” Mulligan started. “Your rap sheet of crimes you haven’t been caught for yet?” 

Lafayette flattened his eyebrows and pouted. 

“No need to attack me. It’s not my fault I’m too good to get caught,” Lafayette giggled and tilted his head to look at the cloudy, blue sky. “Or maybe it is.” 

Mulligan and Lafayette reached the clearing filled with vibrant, earthy tones. 

Mulligan decided to bring the conversation away from criminal tendencies and back to lawful, but illogical missions. 

“Why do you have to give it a code name?” Mulligan asked. 

Lafayette scoffed, “Honestly, Hercules, do you even like to have fun?” 

“I do, but this is your idea of fun, not mine.” 

“Oh, Mon Dieu.” 

They found a pond in the middle of the park, with only a few others occupying the area. The pond had a small section facing Lafayette and Mulligan with a mudslide leading into the water. Despite this flaw, the rest of the pond was a clear blue and teeming with small fish and other wildlife. 

Lafayette led Mulligan to a two-seater, red-painted bench. Here, Lafayette continued to unravel his plan. 

“As I was saying before you interrupted with your negative outlook on the world,” Lafayette crossed his arms over his chest. “The code name is Project Fun-for-Everyone, and here it is: we saw Hamilton and Laurens cuddling together, and who knows what else they did. Because we don’t know, we obviously have to find out.” 

Mulligan put a hand over his mouth knowing a full face-palm would have been too obvious. 

Lafayette ignored Mulligan’s open dread of his project but pushed on. 

“We must talk to them separately. I think I should be the one to un-terrogate- wait, un-terrogate?” Lafayette stumbled over his words. 

Mulligan steadied his friend. “In-terrogate, not un-terrogate.” 

Lafayette smiled at Mulligan to display his gratitude. 

“Interrogate, okay. So, I think I should be the one to interrogate Hamilton, and you can interrogate Laurens.” 

Mulligan scrunched his face as he tried to break down his assignment. 

“Why me and Laurens? Why not me and Hamilton?” 

“It’s not obvious?” Lafayette asked, genuinely confused. “Because you and Laurens tend to talk much less about yourself, and always ask other people about themselves. You get them to do all the talking, and you do all the listening. This is why you have to get information out of Laurens by asking him all the right questions, and I know you’ll do well with that, while I won’t have to try very hard at all to get Hamilton to share his experience.” 

Lafayette cocked his head to assess his statement. 

“At least, I don’t think I’ll have to try very hard.” 

Mulligan nodded. 

“I see what you mean, but what are the right questions to ask?” 

Lafayette crossed one leg over the other while lacing his fingers together and taking one long breath. 

“The basics of the conversation would be: what happened last night, do you know you’re gay or not yet, because you obviously are, and do you have feelings for each other, or are you just making love without the love part?” 

Mulligan sighed and craned his neck to look Lafayette in the eyes. 

“Solid plan, but when are we gonna do that?” 

“Today, of course!” Lafayette exclaimed. 

“Of course, it’s today...” Mulligan trailed off when he noticed a figure pass by in his peripheral vision. He turned to see a woman in a light green dress standing at the left side of the pond. She crouched down to touch the water and bent her head to get a closer look at the ripple effect her fingers caused. 

Lafayette made an “uh...” sound as he tried to find what took Mulligan’s attention away from him. His eyes landed on a young woman with loose, curly black hair, and ebony skin. She was a sight for sore eyes, and no one could dare deny the truth. Lafayette completely understood why Mulligan’s eyes were glued to the girl instead of him now. 

Lafayette was the purest definition of “the man with a plan”. Maybe too many plans because he formed another one right then. A wingman’s moment had arisen. 

Lafayette left the scarlet bench and approached the pond. He could almost feel the confusion and nervousness leaking from Mulligan’s pores. 

He made eye contact with the maiden a few feet from him and smiled. She returned the extension of kindness but glanced back at Mulligan, then quickly looked down. Lafayette knew his plan was going to work with that sliver of a connection. Not only was it a connection, but a clue, an incentive, a green light to continue. 

Lafayette’s feet reached the water’s edge, and he feigned a slip. The slip turned into a fall, that grew to collapsing down a mudslide into the pond. The pond was much deeper than Lafayette expected, as the water reached his chest. His clothes were soaked through and painted with dark brown mud. Mud in his hair, on his face, and frankly, all over him. 

The woman jumped to her feet when water splattered at the bottom of her dress, but she merely inched to the edge of the pond, and extended a hand to Lafayette. 

Mulligan was by the woman’s side now, as she hauled a drenched Lafayette out of the water, and onto dry land. 

“My lord, are you okay?” Lafayette’s savior’s words tumbled out of her mouth almost too quickly for Lafayette to catch. He gave her a reassuring smile, this time, and shook her hand. 

“Oui, I am alright. I must be so clumsy to miss something right in front of me.” Lafayette laughed and waved for Mulligan to come to his side. “I’m Marquis de Lafayette, Lafayette, if you’d like. This is my dear friend, Hercules Mulligan.” 

Lafayette patted Mulligan on the shoulder, pressing a few stray droplets into his coat. 

The girl reached out to Mulligan with a tender embrace of her palm and her fingers. Her hand wrapped around Mulligan’s, barely covering the expanse of his much larger, over-worked hands. 

“Nice to meet you, Hercules,” she turned her head to Lafayette and gave him a nod. “You too, Lafayette. My name is Elizabeth Sanders.” 

Her hand drifted away from Mulligan’s, and she straightened her dress with the same hand. 

“I’d love to continue this conversation, but I’d be remiss if I didn’t offer my assistance first.” She said. 

Lafayette knew what she was about to say. 

“My home isn’t too far from here. It’s kind of small, but it’s good enough.” She gestured to Lafayette. “And you, Mr. Lafayette, look like you might need a bath and a change of clothes before you go back to wherever you came from.” 

Mulligan opened his mouth to protest, but Lafayette spoke much quicker than Mulligan. 

“That would be perfect, thank you! I’m going to meet my girlfriend in a few hours, and my home is so far from here.” Lafayette clasped his hands together and shook them once. “You are a life-saver, Elizabeth, how could we ever repay you?” 

Mulligan wanted to kill Lafayette. 

Elizabeth laughed lightly and briefly, then a favor popped into her head. 

“It’s nothing. No need to worry,” she glanced at Mulligan, then turned her gaze back to Lafayette. “Although, I could use the company. I didn’t have much else planned for today, so why not have a couple of soldiers over?” 

Mulligan and Lafayette beamed at Elizabeth as she turned around and began to lead them to her house. 

Mulligan lagged behind to whisper in Lafayette’s ear. 

“You wanna know who’s the worst wingman ever? It’s you.” 

Lafayette refused to take this kind of insulting behavior. 

“Worst?” He put a hand to his heart. “If you hadn’t been watching, Hercules, I just got you an invite inside Miss Elizabeth Sander’s house. So, I think you mean, who’s the best? C’est moi.” 

Lafayette and Mulligan only had to walk a block or two to find themselves at a quaint, white house, wedged between a drug store and an inn. 

'Wait, a second,' Lafayette thought. 'That's not just an inn, that’s a bed and breakfast. That’s my bed and breakfast! Huh, that’s actually very funny.' 

Mulligan had the same realization sans a humorous viewpoint. 

Elizabeth opened the door and welcomed Lafayette and Mulligan into her home. It was humble and well-kept. Not a single speck of dust could be found, yet there was only a sofa, a chair, and a coffee table in her living room, and a small, round table with two chairs surrounding it, in her kitchen. The walls were beige, and the wooden floor was pale and barely scuffed. 

Once they were in the kitchen, Elizabeth opened a door next to her pantry, leading into a bedroom. She turned to Lafayette and gestured for him to enter. 

“There’s a tub in the corner that I’ll grab hot water for, and in the wardrobe on the right, you’ll find some of my brother’s old clothes. You and him are of similar sizes, I believe, so I hope they’ll work out for you.” 

Lafayette found a stool in the room and sat down. He didn’t know what else to do, so he waited with Mulligan as Elizabeth heated gallons of water in her kitchen. 

“I can’t believe you did this,” Mulligan said. 

“Well, you should because your turn to make a move is here.” 

Lafayette winked at Mulligan, then smirked. 

Lafayette and Mulligan opened the wardrobe and began to rifle through the different colored shirts and trousers left for months, maybe even a few years, alone and still. Lafayette grabbed a simple brown and white outfit and laid it on the twin-sized bed behind him. 

Eventually, Elizabeth returned with hot water and filled the tub to the brim. She handed Lafayette a towel and a bar of soap and left the room with Mulligan behind her. 

Lafayette stripped his clothes off of him, and slowly sank into the steaming water as a soft sigh parted from his lips. As he began to scrub his body with soap, he heard voices outside the room. The walls were so thin, he could make out the entire conversation without missing a beat. 

He thanked whoever set up the room, and decided to put the tub right next to the wall, so he could hear every word Elizabeth and Mulligan shared. He leaned slightly over and listened. 

“Do you think the clothes’ll fit him?” Elizabeth inquired. 

“Yeah, they will. And even if they don’t, Lafayette can bear through it.” 

Elizabeth laughed, then paused for a moment. Mulligan took this opportunity to get to know her better. 

“So, how long have you been living here?” 

“About two years now, I’d say. My brother lived here with me until he found a girl and eloped without telling anyone...” Elizabeth trailed off, but Mulligan had no problem picking her up. 

“That must have been hard to deal with. Did he ever try to talk to you again?” 

She sighed, “No, he didn’t. He sent a letter though, saying he was sorry he took off like that, but he said he was just too in love. Apparently, that meant he couldn’t wait to tell me he was leaving or say goodbye.” 

Mulligan hummed, and Elizabeth continued. 

“Ever since then, I’ve always wondered what that must be like. To be so in love with someone that you can leave everyone else behind and just dedicate yourself completely to one person. Don’t know if I’ll ever find that, and even if I did, I don’t think I could abandon my friends and family like that.” 

Mulligan cleared his throat, then said, “I don’t think I could do that to my friends either. I couldn’t say the same about my family because they’re back in Ireland, but if I found a woman that I loved, and loved me back, I’d want everyone to know.” 

Lafayette grinned, and he heard Elizabeth laugh. 

“You sound like you’d make a pretty good husband,” she said. 

Mulligan laughed, and Lafayette could imagine how big his smile must be with a compliment as nice as that. 

“I hope I would,” he paused. “I just have to find my wife first.” 

Lafayette gasped and didn’t take notice to the water cooling down, or the fact that he could have gotten out a few minutes ago. He waited for another voice or another sound, but there was nothing. Because of this he got out of the water, grabbed a towel and wrapped it around his waist, so he could put his ear up to the wall. 

“Why aren’t they saying anything?” He mumbled. 

The second after he pressed his ear to the wall, he heard a familiar sound. A very intimate and intended-to-be-private sound. The distinct sound of mouths adjoined and soft, breathy moans filled the silence. Lafayette threw on his borrowed clothes as quickly as possible, and without a second thought, he busted through the door to catch Mulligan and Elizabeth in the act. 

“I’m done!” He yelled as the door swung open so hard it hit the wall with a bang. 

Elizabeth and Mulligan swiftly pulled away from each other and faced Lafayette pathetically trying to hide what they were just doing. 

Mulligan glared at Lafayette, then turned back to Elizabeth and scratched the back of his neck. 

“I guess we should get outta here, huh?” Mulligan took a step away from Elizabeth, but then grabbed her fingers with his hand and leaned down to plant a kiss on the back of her hand. “Elizabeth Sanders, it has been my pleasure.” 

Elizabeth smiled and bit her lip, “Mine too.” 

Mulligan lifted his head and ignored an ecstatic Lafayette behind him. 

“I’d like to see you again.” He said. 

Elizabeth’s cheeks began to heat up, “I’d like that too. I’m not doing anything tomorrow, or the day after that, if you happen to be free.” 

Mulligan smiled down at her, “Tomorrow, then.” He leaned down to whisper in her ear, so Lafayette could not pick up on their conversation this time. “And then maybe the day after that, too.” 

Mulligan slipped his hand out from under hers and walked out of the door. Lafayette followed behind him, forgetting to say goodbye to Elizabeth and to thank her for her hospitality. 

Lafayette pushed Mulligan as soon as they were out of her house. 

“You animal! You absolute ruffian! You clever, clever man!” 

Lafayette wasn’t expected to contain his dramatics, so he never did. 

“Ugh, relax, Laf. Just gonna see where it goes. Don’t make a big deal out of it,” Mulligan said. 

Lafayette raised his hands in surrender. 

“I’m not making a big deal out of it, I’m just excited for you. This girl seems to like you, and you actually seem like you might like her too, ah?” 

You couldn’t scrape, let alone wipe, the smile off of Lafayette’s face as he, along with Mulligan, entered the bed and breakfast. 

“Just going to see where it goes. Not a big deal, Hercules. None at all.”

Lafayette and Mulligan walked the few steps necessary back to their inn, then entered.


	11. M. Lafayette

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all of the kudos and the comments. It's all meant so much to me. This is the first fic I've written on AO3, and it began intimidating because it was so new, but thanks to the support it's almost natural now. I'm back in school which means my updating won't be as often as I'd like it to be, so I apologize in advance. Although, you've already gotten a taste to that. Anyway, I'm excited to continue this story and let you guys see where I chose to take it. I have the biggest scenes planned out, so I know how I want to end the story, and I plan to reach that end without hesitation. And hopefully without too much writer's block. Anyway, thank you again, and I hope you enjoy this chapter :)

Lafayette kicked open the doors with enough enthusiasm to snap them off their hinges. He patted Alexander’s cheek with his free hand, and said, “It is time to take you shopping, of course!” 

Alexander whipped his head around in his last moments isolated from the outside world to glance at Laurens with furrowed brows, a strained grin, and a shrug of his shoulders. Lafayette refused to grant him time to adjust to the searing, white light emanating from the sun, the human-infested streets, or the readied, and somewhat irritable horses standing a few feet to their left. 

Lafayette dragged Alexander into a quaint, nut-colored carriage, and onto the plush, cushioned-seat across from him. Lafayette sat with his back to the driver, causing his body to jolt forward with every bump in the road. They began their journey to New York City, roughly eleven miles away from their temporary home in Manhattan. 

The ride commenced at a slow pace. Alexander couldn’t hush the temptation to push the pale, floral curtains away from the view provided by the small opening in the doors of the carriage. He wanted to absorb the passing sights, smells, and sounds that invigorated his senses. Lafayette realized how closely he resembled Alexander. Brimming with wonder and euphoria at the novelty of New York. So different from his home country of France, and so different from Alexander’s home... 'now, where did he say he was from?' 

Lafayette tempted Alexander away from the diversions of the city. 

“Hamilton,” Lafayette opened the stilled air between them. “I know you have mentioned it at least once before, but where do you come from?” 

Alexander’s focus narrowed on Lafayette, arms and legs crossed, before him. 

“I was born in the Caribbean. More specifically, Charlestown, Nevis. You ever heard of it?” Alexander asked, keeping his tone cool and posture lax despite the buzz disturbing his nerves at the mention of his past. 

Lafayette leaned forward an inch and shook his head. This pin’s head of a movement elicited a flurry of words in response. Well, a flurry isn’t the best way to put it. More like a snowstorm. 

“So far, I haven’t met anyone who has, and I don’t think I will. New York is nothing like Nevis, and yet, it’s exactly how I imagined it to be. It’s thrilling, and expansive, and cruel, and welcoming, and delicate, yet inescapably crass.” 

Alexander sighed, and looked to Lafayette, who was enthralled by his outburst, then continued. 

“I feel like I can become a new man here. There are so many opportunities around every corner, and I thought it might be overwhelming, and it is, but it’s also the greatest wish I could have asked for.” 

Lafayette waited for Alexander’s galloping tongue to carry on, yet he listened to nothing but subtle breaths and jumbled cacophony outside their little world, so he took this chance to speak. 

“So, you like it then?” 

Alexander and Lafayette chuckled briefly before Lafayette reared to ask a new question. 

“I felt the exact same when I came here from France. It’s a wonderful place with so many different things to experience all at once, but it’s a shame it’s not perfect, you know?” 

“Perfection is hard to find.” 

“Oui, I think there would be a few things I would like to change if I got the chance.” 

“Really? Like what?” 

Lafayette cleared his throat and smiled as he arrived at one of the many destinations he had planned for their conversation. “Like some of the laws here. I don’t agree with all of them, and even though my country and many others share the same laws, I would love it if New York was the place to change all of that.” 

He almost smirked but shunned his mischievous nature to not uncover his true intentions. 

“Laws like women not being able to leave their husbands or have any say in their own life, really. Or... what’s another one?” Lafayette made sure to maintain eye-contact for his next words. “Ah, sodomy and laws against same-sex relationships. I’ve never understood why that would be such a problem. Did you have that law on Nevis?” 

Alexander nodded. 

“They would never allow relationships between two men or two women. But that never seemed to stop people from doing what they wanted.” 

Lafayette laughed. 

“Rebellion in the Caribbean? I see,” Lafayette tapped his fingers on his chin. “This sort of rebellion... did you ever partake in it as well, or?” 

For a split-second, Alexander’s body went rigid. 

“While offers had been presented to me on a few occasions, I never broke that law.” 

“But did you want to?” 

Alexander smiled and dropped his gaze to his feet, then returned to Lafayette’s inquisitive and immovable stare. 

“Um, I don’t know,” he hesitated. “I-” 

Lafayette backtracked on their conversation as five words registered in his brain. 

“You never broke that law? So, you never involved yourself in sodomy, but there were other offers you did take?” 

Lafayette’s mind was racing; his ears desperate for Alexander’s answer. 

Before Alexander could reply, the carriage landed in New York City. A few hundred feet from a men’s clothing store that Lafayette frequented quite often. Whether or not he had the money to purchase something, he perused his options with glee. 

“I-uh...” Alexander tried to fit in what he wanted to say, but Lafayette held a hand up in his face, then dragged Alexander into the store. Ironically, the point of this gathering was to grill information out of Alexander, yet when Lafayette chose shopping for their side-entertainment, he forgot how distracted he might get. 

Lafayette took in a deep breath, held it, then exhaled. Despite his closed eyes, he walked through the entrance. His feet fell on glossed, cherrywood floors. He hummed as his fingers instinctively floated over an array of fabrics. Patterns of polka dots and stripes and flowers never to be seen on Lafayette, but delightful enough for his playground of imagination. He inhaled the attractive scents of leather and laundry. Antiseptic and perfume. Linen and smoke. Also, hints of coffee and spices. Only present because of Lafayette’s loyal tailor, Francesca, with a tastebud-scorching cup of nutmeg and cinnamon induced latte. 

Lafayette waved in her direction, and she waved back, cup in hand, then returned to her customer in need of a good several sizes smaller than they estimated. 

Lafayette led Alexander to racks of knee-length coats much slimmer than Lafayette’s given volume. As he reached for a deep navy and white coat, he realized how sidetracked he had become. 

'This isn’t about clothes, this is about Laurens,' he reminded himself. 

Lafayette let his hand plummet from the coat’s soft exterior, and drop to his side. 

“I’m sorry, Hamilton, I interrupted you. What were you trying to say?” 

Alexander tore his eyes from the arrangement of fine clothing he had never been exposed to before and took a moment to run over past events before he answered. 

“There were two questions you asked that I didn’t answer yet. One was, have I ever wanted to break the law of sodomy, and the other was... did I ever do things that came close to breaking that law?” Alexander found a hanging sleeve to fiddle with momentarily. He took a breath as he considered the questions, and then a reply formed in his mind. Whole and clear. Mostly. 

“I don’t think I would commit sodomy, but I also haven’t formed any romantic connections with men to know for sure. I can’t answer completely, but I know I have an affinity toward women. That can be said without a doubt in my mind,” Alexander walked past Lafayette to run his hands along the linen and cotton shirts on the left side of the store. The sun streamed in through the glass windows to highlight these righteous, white button-ups. Lafayette accompanied a few steps behind. “For your other question, the most I’ve done to come close to sodomy with another man was kissing.” 

Lafayette’s jaw barely clung to its above likeness. 

“You have made out with men on your island?” Lafayette scoffed in disbelief. “My Dear Hamilton. You surprise me constantly.” 

Alexander giggled as his cheeks turned a shade of peony. 

“Thank you, Lafayette. I try.” Alexander grabbed a few different outfits chosen by Lafayette and draped them over his forearm. “And I didn’t make out with a lot of men, keep in mind. Sometimes I would drink with my friends, and my friends’ friends, and get a little tipsy, and find a few pairs of lips belonging to someone else, and they didn’t exclusively match up to a woman. What can I say, Lafayette? I’m a man with too much to do in too little time, and giving my affections to others is a hobby I gladly partake in.” 

Lafayette’s brain raced with ideas of how to break the news to Mulligan. His enthusiasm bubbled over into his movements as he hopped, not too high, to the dressing rooms with Alexander. 

“I cannot believe this!” Lafayette wanted to hug Alexander. How could he not tell Mulligan of the news immediately? How could he not tell Laurens? 

“Why are you so excited?” Alexander scrunched his face before Lafayette pushed him into the dressing room and shut the door. 

“It’s an exciting day, mon ami. And it just keeps getting better,” Lafayette hid his face behind his hands. “Now, try on your clothes, so you can look pretty for Laurens and Hercules.” 

Lafayette detected shuffling behind the freshly repainted, white door, and pulled a chair in front of Alexander’s dressing room to prepare himself for a changed man. Lafayette let his mind drift from the issue at hand when an idea swam to the surface of his brain. He had to bring up Laurens, but he had to make it seem like he’s not the one who brought him up. Or at least not completely. 

'How in the hell am I going to do that?' He raised an eyebrow, then finished his thought. 'Never mind. I know exactly how to do that.' 

“Petit Hamilton,” He began. “The dark green coat I handed you, where did that come from?” 

Lafayette had to raise his voice quite a few decibels for Alexander to hear him. While some experienced miscommunication due to the thickness of the dressing room’s doors, Alexander had no such problem. 

“The tag says it’s from Florence, Italy!” He yelled back. 

Lafayette smirked and returned the upper volume statement with a bewildering inquiry. 

“You want to talk about Laurens?” He pathetically attempted to pry the smile away from his face. “Well, I don’t know how you got to that, but alright, Hamilton. Let’s talk about Laurens.” 

Lafayette adored the confusion in Alexander’s voice. 

“No, not Laurens, Florence! The coat is from Florence!” 

“Yes, I can hear you. And if you want to talk about Laurens then I would say that’s a little off-topic, but we can do that! In fact, I wanted to ask you something about Laurens.” 

Alexander let out an exasperated, “oh my god,” then gave up on correcting their misguided conversation. 

“What’s your question?” He asked. 

Lafayette pulled his verbal arrow back, then shot. 

“Early this morning, Hercules and I couldn’t find Laurens. He usually wakes us up in the morning, and yet, we woke up Laurens-less. Do you know where he was?” 

Lafayette expected a liar and a cover-up artist, but he cornered himself the second he anticipated an under-sharer of Alexander. 

“Yes, he was in my room. It was either the storm or me that woke him up in the middle of the night, but either way he knew I wasn’t handling the thunder or lightning very well, so he kept me company. We conversed for a while, before tiring ourselves, then we went to sleep.” Alexander sighed. “Laurens has a very calming presence. I wouldn’t have slept last night if it wasn’t for him.” 

Lafayette nodded in agreement. He snapped his head up, as he heard the hefty, fitting room door slide open. No creaks, just the soft whine of metal hinges shifting. He took notice of the door for a millisecond before his attention was grasped by a glowing Alexander. A dark green coat snug against Alexander’s shoulders. A white, cotton shirt beneath, with fashionable ruffles peeking out ever so slightly because its remaining entirety was covered by a rich green vest. Lafayette traced his focus from Alexander’s head to his toes. Toes covered by black shoes, and high, white socks, creeping into tight, green breeches matching the outerwear. Alexander was perfect, and Lafayette almost felt guilty he witnessed this dashing figure alone. 

“Magnifique, Monsieur,” Lafayette said. “Absolutely wonderful.” 

Alexander straightened the glimmering collar and looked down at his pristine outfit. 

“I love it,” a modest smile formed. “It’s a shame I don’t have the money to buy it yet.” 

Lafayette huffed, and stood up. “I would have loved to buy this for you, but a soldier’s salary isn’t one for generosity. This store is too beautiful for us, Hamilton. But it is so much fun to try things on, no? What did you think of the black outfit I handed you?” 

Alexander began to strip himself of the luxurious forest green attire. 

“I loved that one too. But I could only see a much older me wearing something like that. That’s why I came out to show you the green. I’ll make it mine someday, just not today.” 

Alexander turned to grab a clean, white shirt with matching breeches. 

“Very good,” Lafayette pulled the matching set out of Alexander’s arms, as Alexander revisited the fitting room, and changed into his already well-worn clothing. “So, back to Laurens, if you two slept in your room, did you two sleep in your bed or...?” 

“Yes, we did. Laurens decided to stay with me through the night, but I couldn’t let him sleep on a chair or the floor, so I let him sleep in my bed. I don’t plan to put myself above my friends, especially not Laurens.” 

“Especially not Laurens? You two seem to be getting very close over this past week,” Lafayette desperately wished he could see Alexander’s face at this moment. “You looking to break a few laws with him or something?” 

Alexander scoffed and stuttered his next sentence. 

“Umm, I don’t-uh, I don’t think so. Nothing like what we were talking about earlier,” he cleared his throat. “He’s a good friend, that’s all.” 

Lafayette hummed. 

Alexander left the changing room and walked up to the cashier with Lafayette close behind him. His speed had increased greatly compared to their pace walking in the store. Clothes were bought, and Lafayette barely had time to say goodbye to his friend and tailor, Francesca. He also didn’t have the time to admire a particularly illuminating purple outfit. Nothing he would wear, of course. Although, he could imagine it on a much more pompous, loud, domineering version of him. Or maybe Thomas Jefferson. 

Alexander ripped Lafayette away from his thoughts as he was led out of the store and into the bustling street of New York City. 

“So, what about you and Mulligan? You break any laws with him?” Alexander’s idea of a subject changed well wasn’t the most promising, but it worked. 

Lafayette was shocked by his question. 

“Never!” Lafayette screeched. “That tree of a man is only my friend.” 

Lafayette’s tone fell from high-pitched and squeaky to breathy and low. 

“He’s my best friend, mon cher, you know? From the second we met; we became brothers. I would trust him with my life, and I know he feels the same. No matter how much he tries to hide it, he cares for me just as much as I do for him. When I arrived from France, I fell in love with the energy and the people. I just didn’t know it could be a... second-home until I met Hercules. I love France, but I don’t think I would mind ending up here when my journey ends.” 

Lafayette laughed and leaned against the outside of their carriage. Alexander’s eyes trained on Lafayette’s face. Not wanting to miss a word that came out of his lips. 

“Maybe that’s a little morbid, but that’s how I feel. He’s my home,” Lafayette lifted his glossy eyes to Alexander’s. He tilted his head and smiled. His next words noticeably choked and broken, but voiced anyway. “Maybe Laurens can be your new home too.” 

Alexander didn’t let his gaze drop, but his hand. Right onto Lafayette’s shoulder and Lafayette reciprocated the gesture. Lafayette urged his arms to reach out and hug Alexander, but considering the boundaries they hadn’t overcome yet, he remained still. 

Their movements became slow, but not weary. Serenity covered them like a thick blanket in the winter’s cold. The carriage bounced and tumbled from New York City to Manhattan. To the bed and breakfast, with the evening sun melting away and replacing gold with silver. 

As Lafayette and Alexander drifted out of the carriage and began their short return excursion, they noticed Laurens and Mulligan in the distance. Mulligan frozen in place, seemingly at something Laurens had said. Alexander and Lafayette stopped walking as they admired the sight in front of them. 

Lafayette let his feet move again, but Alexander’s words halted him. 

“Maybe you’re right.” He said. 

“What do you mean?” 

Laurens spun around and registered the faces of Lafayette and Alexander and waved to them with a blinding smile stretched ear-to-ear on his face. 

Alexander waved back, then turned to Lafayette with a look in his eyes best described as soft. 

“Maybe he can be my home.”


	12. A. Hamilton

Laurens stood in front of Alexander. Hair askew with frizzy strands framing his head like a halo. Rich golden eyes laden with joy. His hands removed his hair tie, smoothed befuddled locks, then re-bound. His hands fell in front of the tops of his thighs. Tinkering with his breeches, and pulling ever so slightly here and there to fix the fabric from riding up or hanging low. He looked to Mulligan and Lafayette as they held a council in Laurens’ room, then darted back to Alexander. 

Alexander sat on Laurens’ bed beside Mulligan, who laid comfortably on its surface withholding the majority of the area from Alexander. Despite the unintentional selfishness Mulligan displayed, Alexander rested with his legs hanging off the side, pleasing him more than the picture of lying horizontal, parallel to Mulligan. 

As a part of whatever conversation ensued at the time, Alexander’s ability to listen, left him. An untimely departure without a goodbye or even a note. His eyes allowed him the sight of what a psychic might promise you. Whether or not its authenticity reigned true, he uncovered the vision of what you hold most dear. His conscious mind conceived an image of his only desire. Although, his subconscious was the only party with the knowledge to interpret this development with clarity. The part of his mind mostly forgotten knew what his eyes saw, and registered its meaning. The rest of Alexander couldn’t wade through the conflict, now rising to his waist creating an utter loss of certainty. 

He saw Laurens. He saw him, he inhaled his presence, but he didn’t really see him. He couldn’t face the truth, and this barrier blocked him from a simple life. It restrained him from a peaceful journey without cracked souls and hearts shredded and labeled as waste. He saw a friend. A man he could come to care about with what he assumed to be all of his heart, but reserved too much space for temporarily satisfying agendas. 

Alexander became encompassed by his restless mind which determined his unawareness of Mulligan and Lafayette leaving the room to him and his friend. He no longer sat on the edge of the bed, but fully, arms, legs and all, supine. The door was closed. The room was empty unless moonlight is counted because every characteristic, old or new, illuminated in its cool, gray beams. Among all things highlighted, Laurens glowed brighter. His usually summery tones carried an imprint of blue. Alexander realized he had not once honed in on another person, place, and/or object. Only Laurens. 

‘The truth is,‘ he thought. ‘I don’t want to look at anything else. Just him.’

Laurens adjusted his stance as he pulled his writing desk’s chair to the side of the bed, flipped it around, and sat with his arms crossed on the headrest.   
“This looks familiar,” Laurens said, existing delightfully in every way. 

Alexander listened. Apparently, to his ears, this was important enough to awaken his hearing. 

“Ah-ha, I guess it does,” discomfort swirled in his gut. “If you want to sleep, I can go back to my room. It is getting pretty late.” 

Laurens wanted to refuse his offer, but exhaustion spread through him like a cancer. 

“I wish you could stay, but Mulligan kind of tired me out-” 

‘Mulligan, you bastard,’ thought Alexander. 

Even though he didn’t really think Mulligan a bastard, Mulligan denied him time with Laurens, and he didn’t want to forgive him. 

“You could sleep in my bed tonight...” Laurens scratched the back of his neck. “With me. In a way, it could be like compensation for letting me sleep with you, or um, I mean sleeping in your bed with you last night.” 

The conversations they had with Mulligan and Lafayette wrecked their easygoing discourse and disrupted it with the nagging voices of their day-companion. Alexander had no idea what Laurens went through with Mulligan, but he knew Lafayette stirred a million questions into his head he had no idea how to answer. He hoped to flush the useless pestering from his mind by tomorrow, but he didn’t know if that was possible. 

Could Laurens be his home? Does he want to become a sodomite? Does he want to become a sodomite with a loyal partner named Laurens? Does Laurens want him? Does Laurens think of him as he does? Are his thoughts true or is it all a trick? Does he sexually engage himself with women only or is there more to this story? 

‘And after I answer all these questions, what the hell am I supposed to do about it?’

Alexander found composure by sitting up. 

“I would love to, but I have some writing I have to do-” 

‘Don’t say that. Don’t say that. You want to stay. Stop using excuses, stay with him.’

“So, I should go back to my room. I wouldn’t want to disturb you, and I’ll be staying up a while with the light on, so it’s for the best,” Alexander abandoned the bed and Laurens, then opened the door. He looked to Laurens as if he would never be able to see him again. “Goodnight, Laurens.” 

He left wishing he stayed. He entered his room cursing himself for exiting Laurens’. He undressed in front of no one longing for... he didn’t know what he longed for anymore. 

The bed welcomed him, and his dreams opened a window. His subconscious was free and pulling Alexander into a memory. Strangely, the memory wasn’t distorted. He remembered all occurrences of last night, and it played without falsehood. Maybe his subconscious was trying to tell him something. If so, he should listen, shouldn’t he? 

The memory crashed into his slumber. Despite the simplicity of the meeting, his doubts caused by Lafayette struck a nerve. He wanted to analyze every part of the night. It began with writing. He wrote on loose pieces of paper, his thoughts of what his future looked like. He wrote of what awaited him, and if there was anything on the other side for him. A storm hurled into Manhattan, denying him rest. Trembling and afraid, there was a knock at the door to snap him out of his terrors. The soft rap belonged to Laurens. He checked on him, but why? How could he have known when the sounds Alexander made were thought to be undetectable in another room? Even if Laurens had heard him, why did he care? Laurens even stayed with him throughout the night. Alexander knew Laurens must have been tired, but he lied awake with him. 

Alexander remembered the words they shared. Especially his reiteration of Laurens’ outspokenness, however inadvertent. 

‘You’re breathtaking. I’ve never met anyone like you.’

Ignoring worries of why Laurens had said this, and the sincerity behind it, Alexander had spoken them as if he was saying them to Laurens. And Laurens reacted unsurprisingly to Alexander. Motionless in body, but surely not in mind. Laurens didn’t say anything, and as amused as Alexander was, he wanted a reply. Maybe he wanted Laurens to say it back to him again, just like he did the first night they met, or maybe he wanted action instead of words. He had heard once they spoke louder, and he desperately desired to be audience to whatever Laurens did to prove this theory. 

But another vision came to him. 

As Laurens remained still and stuttering, Alexander noticed the blanket had left Laurens’ shoulder, and a shiver ran through him. He remembered wanting to help Laurens in any way he could, so he reached the edge of his bed, grabbed the comforter from the clutches of hardwood and cold, and leaned close to Laurens to wrap it around his shoulders. He assumed Laurens saw what he was doing, which was why Laurens had inched closer to him. The chair whined as the space between it and the bed lessened, and Laurens just breathed as he lessened the space between him and Alexander. Eyes met and paths of air inhaled and exhaled intertwined. 

What measurement was most logical to describe the distance between them? Was it feet? 

Alexander moved again. 

Inches? 

“Are you cold?” Alexander asked. 

“Yes.” 

He draped the blanket over Laurens’ shoulders. 

“How about now?” 

Laurens removed personal space. 

“Now? Now, I’m a little hot.” 

Centimeters. 

An orchestra played in Alexander’s head. Violin, harp, piano, and clarinet. Notes in the rhythm of the beat of his heart. Light and ethereal, but rising quicker. The piano took over, gaining volume and now the violins. He could see oceans, clouds, pink skies, land stretching wide with green grass and cliffs, tall and steep. He saw these wonders in Laurens’ eyes. So close to him, and so full of emotion. Alexander looked down and electrified his senses. Lips parted, and pink, warm, soft, waiting, yearning, and ‘God, please, all for me.’

Millimeters. A few, or just one. 

Alexander felt energy on Laurens’ lips seeping into his. He felt shared desires and feelings and need and power and hope and good. He knew it would be good. 

Space barely existed any longer. Alexander could hold a piece of paper flat between them, and both of their lips would meet it. 

But moments like these weren’t worth analyzing if they were answered, now were they? 

Because the storm bared its teeth, blackened and chipped, and the roar erupted tearing a mile from Laurens to Alexander in separation. They recovered, they moved on and pretended it never happened, then Alexander invited Laurens to stay and sleep beside him, and Laurens accepted. 

When Laurens left in the morning to change, and come back right after, so they could go downstairs and get coffee, Alexander was left alone, but not lonely. Happiness had lifted him into a new dimension. They sat together in the bed and breakfast’s lobby, and they drank coffee and lived side by side. In harmony. 

But now? Now, he had so many questions, and he felt the answers were nowhere near. Why couldn’t he enjoy peace with Laurens for a day longer, an hour, a minute, or even a second? Why doubt and why...this? 

These questions still haunted him much later, but at least they resided in the back of his mind. A whisper wasn’t torture, but tolerable. So, as nineteen-year-old Alexander reached twenty, Burr relayed a message from George Washington of wartime recruiting soldiers. The five of them, including Burr, spent their last day listening to a loyalist with “ideals”. 

. . . 

“Who is that?” 

Alexander’s eyes narrowed on the lanky, pale man stepping onto a pedestal in front of a horde of passing citizens. 

“I think his name is Seabury,” Burr said, shoulder to shoulder with Alexander. 

Laurens, Lafayette, and Mulligan scattered around the unknowing crowd, either drinking, talking up women (although, only Lafayette because Mulligan was in a relationship with Elizabeth Sanders, and Laurens was hopelessly pining), or avoiding Burr. Although, avoiding Burr was taken up by Mulligan and Lafayette exclusively, while Laurens had no quarrel with the man. In fact, he could almost consider them friends. 

Alexander stood with his back against a red-brick building. He saw the paper in Samuel Seabury’s hands and deduced a whiny speech to occur. 

“Hear ye, hear ye,” Seabury began. “My name is Samuel Seabury, and I present free thoughts on the proceedings of the Continental Congress.” 

Alexander turned to Burr with a “this is about to be stupid,” look on his face, and Burr shrugged his shoulders in reply. A few passersby stopped walking and turned to listen to the loud, high, operatic voice of Seabury. 

“Heed not the rabble who scream revolution,” Seabury attracted a small gathering. “They have not your interests at heart.” 

Alexander hadn’t noticed Mulligan arrive at his side until he heard, “Oh my God, tear this dude apart.” 

“Chaos and bloodshed are not a solution. Don't let them lead you astray,” Seabury paused. Possibly for effect, or just for the simple fact, he was annoying as shit, so why not take a breath? “This Congress does not speak for me.” 

Alexander took two steps forward. Burr knew what was about to happen, so he leaned into Alexander and tried to chain the prowling hunter. 

“Let him be,” he said, with a hand on Alexander’s shoulder. 

Alexander furrowed his brows and dipped his shoulder out of Burr’s grasp. He had a mission to quiet this loudmouth bother, and he wasn’t about to defy his instincts. 

Seabury didn’t take notice of the lion stalking him, so he continued in ignorant calm. 

“They’re playing a dangerous game. I pray the king shows you his mercy,” he paused again when he noticed Alexander, snarling with claws unsheathed. “For shame, for shame.” 

Alexander pounced. 

“Yeah, he’d have you all unravel at the sounds of screams, but the revolution is coming,” Alexander said. 

The crowd had built upon itself greatly, and people, some with prior knowledge of Alexander and some without, huddled closer to delight in insult to the loyalist party. Alexander accompanied Seabury on the pedestal, almost knocking him off, and voiced his opinions so loud, Seabury’s repetitive cries fell off like flies in an outhouse. Annoying, but easily ignored. Especially when you’re taking a massive shit on someone’s reputation. 

“The have-nots are gonna win this-” 

Seabury cut him off with more repetition. He was disgracing himself the second he chose to restate over roast. 

Alexander smirked up at Seabury, determining the loser before anyone else, except for his four loyal friends, of course. 

“It’s hard to listen to you with a straight face,” 

Alexander used Seabury’s words against him like throwing a grenade Seabury threw right back at him. “Chaos and bloodshed already haunt us-” 

Seabury shoved Alexander, almost burying Alexander’s face in the dirt. He rose like a phoenix out of its ashes, stronger than before, and launched onto the pedestal again with a finger pressing against Seabury’s chest. 

“Honestly, you shouldn’t even talk,” he turned to face the amused faces in the audience. “And what about Boston?” 

Seabury rambled on, slowly shrinking under Alexander’s lashing, as Alexander glared at him without malice, but comedic relief. 

“Look at the cost, and all that we’ve lost, and you talk about congress?” 

Seabury regained an ounce of strength. 

“This congress does not speak for me!” 

Alexander looked to Mulligan and winked, then turned back to Seabury. 

“My dog speaks more eloquently than thee.” 

Laughter shot from the mouths of onlookers like automatic gunfire. 

Seabury’s eyes darted from each ridiculing mouth in reluctant panic, yet continued, “They’re playing a dangerous game.” 

Poor, Seabury. 

“But strangely, your mange is the same,” Alexander belted causing Seabury’s recovery to be non-existent. 

Laurens, Lafayette, and Mulligan could be seen dying of laughter, and almost rolling on the floor, clutching their stomachs in passionate mirth at the embarrassment before them and the inflictor of such pain. 

Seabury spit at Alexander’s feet, before saying, “I pray the king shows you his mercy-” 

Despite the say and spray, Alexander whipped around to face the crowd with joy so evident on his face, no one escaped the contagiousness of his smile. 

He spoke to them in simple terms, “Is he in Jersey?” which wreaked havoc among the people. 

Seabury used a pathetic attempt to quiet his bullies, “For shame!” 

Alexander interrupted to incite a chant, “For the revolution!” 

“FOR SHAME!” yelled Seabury. 

“FOR THE REVOLUTION!” yelled everyone else.   
A winner and a loser were determined, but Seabury resisted defeat, as he began again. 

“Heed-” 

Alexander took control immediately; a shred of the positive could not be given. 

“If you repeat yourself again, I’m gonna-” 

“-scream!” A patch of Seabury’s torn speech. 

Alexander waved his arms to gain Seabury’s attention. 

“Honestly, look at me, please don’t read-” 

Seabury’s voice trembled, “not your interests-” 

But Alexander’s voice scolded, “Don’t modulate the key, then not debate with me. Why should a tiny island across the sea, regulate the price of tea?” 

This time, Burr cut in, hoping to resolve the quickly formed conflict. 

“Alexander, please...” 

Alexander stepped off the pedestal to stand face to face with Burr. 

“Burr, I’d rather be divisive than indecisive, so drop the niceties-” 

A British soldier arrived on a horse, and bellowed, “SILENCE!” 

The crowd’s voices were ripped away, and not a soul uttered a word. 

It was a message from the king.


	13. W. Wright

The man I am about to introduce to you is a good man. He loves his wife and has optimistic views on his life. Sufficed to say, he almost loves his life. If there was not the job he works, causing stress of a peculiar kind, he would not need to be optimistic. Although, the promotion of this idea brings to the table a question he had never asked himself before. 

Are people optimistic only because their current situation calls for the opposite mindset? Am I optimistic about each day because without refusing to look evil in the eye, I venture a simpler path? Is the path simply described as ignorance in the face of cruelty? The man chose to stop thinking. Oh, never mind. I won't find the answer I'm looking for, anyway. 

His name is William Wright. His occupation is scribe to the king. Specifically, King George the third. William found his days off became more and more on, as time passed by. Like today. 

Today, William woke up at five in the morning. He rushed through his routine, as he always does, in favor of spending the maximum amount of time possible with his wife, Yolanda. Better known as Landy. Landy with her past-dusk mane and blueberry eyes. This was the description William chose to use that morning in the palm-sized note he left her every day before he departed, even though he had just been talking with her for an hour or so. 

William needed to walk three blocks to arrive at his king's estate. Moving closer was a must when George took a liking to him. An aspect of his career he appreciated in the beginning, but not so much now. 

He skated past the stone-faced guards and the gates, the head-strong ladies in the halls, and all the way to George's bedroom doorway. Which he passed through without issue as well. He momentarily hesitated when George's slumbering face was in view. Facing the window, curtains shut, mirroring his eyelids. William arrived at the edge of the bed, sized exactly in the way many would guess (For the few, the answer is king). He placed his hands at the head of the blankets, tightened around them, then ripped them away exposing George's crunched body. 

George groaned and pulled the blankets back over him. 

"Louise," George said, bringing his tone to a condescending level. "If you don't get out of my room in the next three seconds, I'll kill you." 

William strolled over to the curtains, perfectly damaging any light before entrance, and whipped them open. 

"Your majesty, it is I, William." 

George flipped his body to rest on his back, so he could face William. 

"William, you're here!" George sat up. "Oh, good. I have been dreaming of your arrival." 

William approached the bed and sat on the edge careful to not corrupt the king's personal space. 

"I have been dreaming of my arrival, as well, your majesty, and being here does lift my spirits," William said, hoping any little white lies were undetectable to George. 

George made a tut-tutting sound. 

"Now, William. You know I do not want you calling me majesty, I want you to call me George. How many times must I order you to treat me like an equal?" 

"Apparently, one more time... George." 

George clapped his hands with a cheery expression on his face. 

"Spectacular," he said. "Before I start my day, I would like to have a simple conversation to jumpstart my energy, which, as you know, can be spotty at times. So, tell me about your life, William. How's Yolanda?" 

William cleared his throat and propped an arm on the bed to relax. 

"Yolanda is perfect as always. She continues to love me despite any of my shortcomings or interruptions of everyday life, and I am thankful she's by my side. My life, on the other hand, is good, but not as perfect as I would like it to be." 

A frown replaced the giddy smile on George's face. 

"If there is something I could do to improve your life, I would be glad to hear it," he said, placing his head in his hands. 

William wanted to spend more time with Landy, and have more time to himself, but would George grant him his wish if he asked? Would he really give him time off? 

"There is one thing you could do," he tentatively readied his next words. "I haven't had as much time with Yolanda, as I would like. I have been called here to work more and more often, which I don't particularly mind, but it does take away opportunities I had before." 

George raised his eyebrows, and said, "Well, of course, William. Today is Friday, is it not? So, take a few days off, and come back... Monday, how does that sound?" 

"It sounds good, George." 

As George prepared to continue their conversation, a woman barged in the room, slamming the door against the wall in the process. 

"Your majesty, you won't believe what the colonies are up to right now!" 

George rolled his eyes, his mood dropping like an anvil plummeting five stories down. 

"What is it, Louise?" 

"Here, it's all in a report from some of our soldiers over there. I'll leave it to you to read," Louise turned to William. "Or William can read it to you, after all, he is your scribe." 

William narrowed his gaze at Louise. 

"I write what the king tells me to write, Louise. I'm sure he can read a report by himself." 

George sank back into his bed. 

"Leave us, Louise. I don't need any more racket. I'll read it, and then I'll spend the rest of my day away from you, thank you." 

Louise huffed and exited the room. William kept his eyes on the door long after she left. Wondering when he would be able to walk out of the room and go home. Or maybe never come back. 

William finally swiveled to face George and saw gray. He knew the second Louise entered the room, George would no longer express himself excitedly. She popped the balloon, and now it could not be re-filled. So, William tried to find a new balloon. 

"Are you hungry, George?" 

"No." He lied on his stomach now; his face stuffed in the pillow, muffling any words he uttered. 

"Don't you want to read the report?" 

"No." 

William sighed. 

"Do you want me to read it for you?" 

Silence. 

"...yes." 

William grabbed the report and read it to George. Its contents spilled rising rebellion among the colonies. Loyalists fading and being replaced with growing numbers among the patriots. William respected the patriots for fighting for their rights. They showed bravery and resilience. Traits he would have liked to acquire at some point in his life. 

George remained stationary while listening to the report. Disappointment started in his eyes, then proceeded to fill his mind. Sadness occupied the vacancy in the rest of his body. 

"I just don't understand why they hate me so much," George said. 

William struggled to find a suitable reply. 

"Ah, me either." 

Perfect, he thought. 

George rejected the horizontal, and left the bed, walked around to where William was sitting, and placed himself next to him. 

"You would think they would know I must tax them the way I do to protect England. How else would I go about business?" 

George's shoulders slumped. 

"You just want what's best for them," William added, speaking without thinking. 

"I do, I really do. I love the colonies, and they should love me, shouldn't they?" 

"Hmm, so you must have an idea of what to do to them, then?" 

"An idea has struck my fancy, but I haven't sifted through the specifics of it. I'm sure I'll know by the end of the day, once I've passed through my meetings and a game of croquet if I can fit it in." 

William mirrored George's previous movements and left the bed. 

"Well, your meetings start in an hour, so I'll head down to the kitchen, and grab your breakfast." 

Before George could say anything, possibly to protest, William left the room. He fidgeted with his hands and walked at a cheetah-like pace to the kitchen. When he arrived, he saw Louise chatting with the cook, who is only referred to as "Chef". No one knows her real name or her age. She looks to be around William's age, which is forty-two, and gives a look always ready to kill. Whether the victim is an animal, or less surprisingly, a human. 

"Good morning, Chef," William dipped his head in the direction of the glaring woman, then doubled the gesture in likes to Louise. "Good morning, Louise. I see you're already beginning your day without plans of labor or work of any sort?" 

Louise smirked. 

"Yes, Will. I plan to sit on my ass all day and enjoy every minute of it. Besides, Chef doesn't mind, and Georgie hates me, so why do nothing?" 

William resisted the smile desiring spotlight on his features. 

"You're not going to say anything, Chef?" 

Chef grunted and resumed her cooking. 

"I don't want no place in this pointless mouthing of yours. Let me cook in silence, and I'll let you do whatever you want, eh?" 

William's perfect posture drooped. 

"I don't know why I would have expected you to take my side, Chef," William moved to Chef's side. "His majesty wants breakfast, by the way. Anything you can think of would work, I'm sure." 

Louise grabbed a wooden barstool and sat down. Situating herself nicely next to freshly baked pastries, and stuffing them in her face, of course. 

"So," she began, the words muffled behind the delicate, lemon cake. "What's the gossip in the tower, Will? What's hidden in Georgie's sock drawer?" 

William pulled a chair next to Louise and rested. He grabbed a madeleine for himself, and let the light, wings on butterflies, cookie enter his mouth. He moaned, then ran through his thoughts to answer Louise's prying questions. 

"Nothing is going on, really. He likes me, he hates you, he dreads his meetings, he loves the colonies. Not much more to tell." 

Louise groaned, then grabbed a madeleine. 

"You've nothing else to tell me?" She threw her head back in the most dramatic way to roll her eyes. "Can't believe you. If I was the scribe to the king, I would find so much dirt on him, and I would gladly tell you every bit. But, no, you've got nothing going on." 

"Maybe I have nothing to tell you about George, but you haven't asked me about myself, yet." 

Louise sprung up in the stool, causing a momentary loss of balance before she found equilibrium. 

"Are you saying you've got something to tell me? Because if you do, I'm here for every word." 

William shouldn't say it. He shouldn't. Why did he want to in the first place? Louise is a great friend, but he hasn't known her for very long, so why her? 

"I want to quit," he said, concise and succinct in every way possible. 

Louise spat out the half-eaten madeleine. 

"You want to quit?" Her eyes were wide and the breath was taken from her, then she remembered where she was. "Never mind, I get why you'd want that. Can't imagine working with the man upstairs all the time gets easier as time goes on. But, quitting? I've never even thought about that." 

William crossed his arms on the wooden island in the middle of the kitchen and put his face between them. 

"I know it doesn't seem like something I would do, but I can't go on like this anymore. I want to spend time with Landy. I want to get away from this war. I want to live a different life. I want to..." he trailed off. 

"Live?" Louise finished his thought. 

"Yes, I want to live. I feel I would have to run away from this place, to be allowed to live. George likes me, but I don't think he would like it if I said I wanted to leave him." 

Chef fried eggs and bacon in the background as if she wasn't hearing a word they said, but when William expressed his desire to depart from the castle, she had to interject. 

"If you want to leave that bad," she brushed her hands on her apron, then flipped around to face William and Louise. "Then I can help you." 

William and Louise looked to each other sharing the same confused, contorted expression, then focused wholly on Chef. 

"What do you mean you can help me?" William asked. 

Louise rose from the barstool, then took a step toward Chef, and said, "Yeah, what do ya mean?" 

A manservant burst through the kitchen doors, an uncanny reflection to Louise from earlier, and waved his arms frantically while yelling, "His majesty needs his food at once! Stop twiddling about before I get you all fired, now move!" 

The short, fat, balding man left as soon as he came, and William's eyes widened. 

"I completely forgot about his breakfast," he left the chair and started to pace back and forth between the door and Chef. "I'll take up his breakfast, but we are finishing this conversation later, Chef." 

William grabbed the platter of steaming eggs, bacon, toast, and coffee, and sprinted through the halls, up the stairs, and then much slower into the bedroom of George, who was now dressed and ready for business. 

George greeted William with a smile. 

"There you are, William," he straightened his robes. "I was beginning to think you would never return." 

William laughed briefly, lacking joy and humor, but brimming with anxiety and panic. 

"What a funny thought," he said. "I have your breakfast for you, and a spot of coffee to help you last through your meetings." 

George stared blankly at William. 

"Whatever do you mean? I had all of my meetings already, and my game of croquet. How long do you think you were gone? I thought you were bringing up my lunch, not breakfast. Although that does smell quite marvelous, so I think I'll eat it anyway." 

William's consciousness left his body. He watched as he left the platter on the bed, and stood there rigid and robotic as if he was waiting for George to give him his next command. 

"Anyway, I do have something for you to do. I've decided what I want to have sent to the colonies, and I know you are going to love it," George said, wrapping his luscious red, white, and bedazzled robe tighter around him. "It's a song." 

William became whole. 

"I'm sorry, George, I'm afraid my hearing isn't as good as it used to be. I thought you said a song," William joked, mistrusting his ears because how could they be right? 

"Your hearing is fine. I did say a song, and I am sure you have no problem with that. Right, William?" George said a sweet, sick smile on his face. 

"Of course. I was only shocked because of how unique your idea was, yet surprisingly logical and well-planned." 

"Yes, that's better. Now, get out your ink, and quill, and all of your scribe things, and write down these verses. Once I'm done singing, I want you to send this message to our soldiers in the colonies, so they can deliver it to the... rebels, and make sure to tell them it must be in song form, or else it does not work!" 

William retrieved his writing materials, and placed himself at the over-used, only by William, writing desk, and readied his left hand for a musical he would never forget. 

. . . 

Night fell and William with it. Out of his window, with Landy behind him. They dressed in simple, warm clothing, with black cloaks hopefully disguising their true selves. They had two sacks with them, one held by William and the other by Landy, full of any necessities for the journey they were about to partake. 

"Hurry, Honey, we cannot be late for this carriage, or there's no knowing what will happen to us," William said, sneaking through alleyways, to a carriage a block away, driven by Chef to take them to a ship heading for the colonies. 

"William, are you sure this isn't too risky?" Landy had always been a bit of a daredevil when she was younger, but nothing to this degree. "If the king catches us, he'll kill us. He'll murder me quick, but he's a sick man, and I don't know how much worse it would be for you." 

William stopped behind a barely frequented pub, to place his hands on Landy's shoulders, and pull her into his embrace. 

"Landy, I love you, don't I?" 

"Yes," she mumbled. 

"So, I won't let anything happen to you, right?" 

"I guess." 

"Not, I guess, the answer is yes, honey, I love you and I made a vow to protect you. Trust me, we're going to be okay." 

William pulled away to transition his hand position from her shoulders to her face. He kissed her, and she kissed back. They poured desperation, hope, and the unwillingness to say goodbye into the kiss. Landy ran her hands through William's dirty blonde, curly hair, and kept them there. For a moment they were frozen. For a moment they were untouchable and free, and the uncertainty of the future held a path they could never anticipate. So, they thawed and continued to run. They reached the carriage and found Chef curtly hurrying them along, and when they tumbled into the cramped carriage, they realized why it was so cramped. 

"There you are, William!" The hand shoved into William's face prepared for a high-five belonged to none other than Louise. "Hello, Landy, good to see ya, darling. Been a while, hasn't it?" 

William and Landy sat across from Louise as she refused to drop her hand. Landy high-fived her, and the oddly timed gesture actually brought her a flicker of reassurance. 

"It has been a while, but Louise... why are you here?" Landy asked, whilst grabbing her smooth tresses out of the cloak and throwing them to one shoulder. 

Louise grinned and shrugged 

"Well, I thought Will's leaving, Landy's leaving, Chef's staying, but she doesn't talk much anyway, so I thought why don't I join 'em?" She giggled and leaned back in her seat. "Good idea, right? Yeah, well I did it, and it can't be undone, so I'm coming with ya to the colonies! Which reminds me, now that I'm leaving that godforsaken castle, I can rid myself of this bloody Brit façade I had to put on." 

William blinked. 

"What Brit façade?" 

Louise dropped her hood, whipped her strawberry-blonde, almost ginger hair back, and flashed a wide smile. 

"Mon cher, you didn't really think that cockney fucking accent was real?" Louise leaned forward. "I'm a Bonafide Frenchwoman, Willie. But I guess I am a bit of an actress of sorts. I'm not surprised you didn't catch on." 

Landy and William were dumbstruck. 

Landy spoke first, "If all of this was a façade, then is Louise even your real name?" 

Louise sighed. 

"Actually, I was born on the streets, and I stole and lied to get my way into the castle. Louise isn't my real name because I don't have a name." 

William's jaw dropped further than it already was. 

"I'm so sorry, Louise. I never knew," he said, closing his mouth and patting Louise on the shoulder. 

Landy reached out and held Louise's hand in hers. 

"Did you ever think about choosing a name for yourself? One you could keep?" 

"I have, but I never landed on anything that fits who I am as a person. If I get to choose my name, it better damn well match who I am, and who I want to be. I want to strike fear in people's hearts just by telling them my name, non? Just can't think of the right one." 

The carriage stopped and Chef rushed them out and into a ship, carrying cargo to the colonies. Guards were scattered around the landing, but they were British guards, so they snuck by with ease. The three never found out what happened to Chef afterward, but Landy made sure to send a small prayer up to God every night in hopes that Chef was safe. When the three landed in the colonies, they found themselves in South Carolina. A perfect place to live in peace, and far away from the king's wrath. They hoped. Although, when they did land, found a home, and when William and Landy gave Louise a place to stay in their home until she found her own, Louise discovered herself. 

It was midnight, and Louise had been wandering in the darkness for hours, enjoying solitude and freedom when the thought hit her. She ran inside, awoke William and Landy who had just gotten to sleep, and sat at the edge of their bed. 

William groaned and blinked his eyes multiple times. 

"What's wrong, Louise?" Landy asked. 

Louise sat cross-legged and calm. 

"I found out what I want my name to be, but first I want to tell you why." 

William and Landy immediately sat up, and let the sleep wash out of them. They were excited, and they could barely hide it. 

"When I was just sixteen, I traveled to England with a plan to change my life. I wanted to do something, and I didn't want to have to steal, and lie, and cheat anymore. I thought working in the castle would be a good way to begin. But one night, as I was sleeping in some barn, and starved out of my mind, I went into the market and stole a bit of bread. It was the first time in my life I was caught, and they threw me in a cell for being hungry." 

Louise captured William and Landy's attention, and the sounds of the animals outside stopped. Maybe they were as enthralled with Louise as well. 

"I couldn't take being in that stupid cell for any longer than a day, so I broke out. The guards were easy to sneak by because they were drunk and English, so what can you expect?" 

This earned a laugh from William and Landy. 

"Anyway, as I was out of the cell, and passing through the sewers, and out of the disgusting dungeon, I got caught for the second time in my life. He was a soldier out taking a piss, and right as he saw me, the bells went off signaling someone had escaped. He pushed me against the side of the stone walls and laughed in my face. He told me there was nothing I could do. He told me he would make sure I would remember not to run again. So, he pulled out his sword and began to describe it. He told me it was called "Horseman's Saber". He told me he would cut my throat with it if I didn't take off my clothes, and let him fuck me. I told him I wouldn't let that happen, and he said, "What can you do about it? You're just a scared, little scavenger with nothing and no one. You're nothing, which means I can do anything I want with you." And I asked him how much he wanted to bet that was true. And he said, "everything I have." So, I ripped the sword away from him, and cut his throat.” 

Louise never broke eye contact with William, unless it was to glance at Landy. 

“While the blood gurgled out of his throat, and his mouth, and spattered my face, I said to him, "Tell me, how does it feel to be nothing and no one?" Then, I took the sword and buried it in his gut, and he was still alive at this point, but just barely. So, I continued. "How does it feel to lose everything to a scared, little scavenger?" Then, I shoved the sword in his eye, and it stuck up in the air for everyone to see when they looked at his disgusting, rotting corpse, and then I ran back to the barn." 

William and Landy didn't speak. They didn't move, and who knows if they still breathed. 

Louise continued, "Now that I have told you the why, I can tell you what I want my name to be." 

William's eyes were wide and his mouth was hung open like a fish out of water. 

"What is it?" He asked. 

Louise smiled, and as she smiled, she became a new person. She transformed into the woman people will fear the second they hear her name. 

"I'd like you both to meet me anew for the first time," she said. "My name... is Saber." 

. . . 

"Louise? William? Yolanda? Anyone?!" 

George had been trying to find the three for weeks now. He was searching the dungeons, as we speak. While he hopelessly searched, the short, fat, balding man arrived by George's side. 

"Is there anything I can do for you, your majesty?" He asked. 

George looked down at the man and grunted. 

"Oh, hello, Ken. I didn't see you come in here. Have you any idea where William and his wife are? And Louise, I guess, but that can be found out later." 

Ken dipped his head down and did not bring it back up. 

"There have been rumors they have run to the colonies, your majesty. No one knows what state, but a soldier said he saw three suspicious characters board a ship heading there." 

George's face turned to stone. His lips went taut, and his eyes narrowed. 

"How sure are you of this rumor?" 

Ken stood straight and proud. 

"Very sure, your majesty. I would say almost a hundred percent sure." 

George wrapped his cloak tighter around him, then smiled. 

"Well, then. I guess we'll just have to find them, won't we, Ken? We'll find the soldier that saw them but didn't stop them first, and kill him. We'll find whoever helped them escape, and then bury them alive. Then, we'll find the adorable, little trio, and we'll have them skiiinnnnned." 

Ken smirked, and George walked to the kitchen to find some food. He didn't think he was hungry, but for some reason, it hit him right then and there. As he received his dinner from Chef, and returned to his room, and ate, he stopped and looked at his writing desk. 

He tilted his head and smiled. The same sweet, sick, sadistic smile he wore a few weeks ago when William was still there. 

"Oh, William," he said. "You'll be back."


	14. A. Hamilton

1780, A Winter’s Ball. 

A soldier’s uniform adorned forty-percent of the male census present at the ball. Blue coats covering wrinkle-free, battle-ready white underneath. Every new woman entering the venue caused at least two or more soldiers tripping over themselves to win her praise. 

One soldier entered and found a familiar face. Alexander entered, and found Burr, whose eyes wandered over the crowd of people in search of a companion of friendship, or otherwise. At least, that’s what Alexander assumed. He approached Burr, eager to soothe his inactive vocals with a conversation. 

“Aaron Burr,” he said. 

“Sir,” Burr replied, twisting his body to give Alexander his full attention. “I haven’t seen you since you and I met in Washington’s office. How have you been?” 

Alexander held his hands behind his back and took in the passing sights of cotton and silks combined with the scent of delicate, floral perfumes, alcohol, and roasted meats and bread, all leading him down a rocky path of sensory overload. 

“I’ve been great. I’ve faced battle and survived, and I continue to look for any more distractions available in these fine halls.” 

Alexander scanned the faces of the interlocking rooms around him. Hercules Mulligan danced with a Miss Elizabeth Sanders in the middle of rhythmic bodies moving with the same tempo around them. Lafayette held a glass of red wine in one hand, and a woman’s hand in the other. The conversation must have been wildly humorous due to their loud laughing carrying over the music and voices of others all the way to Alexander and Burr. The last of his friends he found was Laurens. Laurens had a pint of Sam Adams in his hand and a lazy smile on his face. Alexander was almost too enraptured by Laurens’ nonchalant, yet obvious attraction, he barely registered the face of the man Laurens was facing. Whoever this man was, didn’t seem at all attractive to Alexander, and best-described as boring by all evidence available to him other than meeting the man. Alexander’s eyes met Laurens’ for a split-second, but Alexander turned back to Burr before anything more than eye-contact could ensue. He did his best to gain control of the conversation he unintentionally left behind. If only for a moment. 

“Has anyone caught your eye since you arrived?” Alexander asked, raising an eyebrow at Burr. 

Burr let a playful smile take hold of his previous expression, followed by narrowed eyes and full cheeks. 

“Not until now, actually,” He nodded toward the entrance of the ballroom, and Alexander’s gaze submitted to casual order. “The Schuyler Sisters. If you can marry a sister, you’re rich, son.” 

Alexander nudged Burr’s shoulder with his, then said, “Is it a question of if, Burr, or which one?” 

Alexander’s eyes locked with a dark-skinned, dress of sunset orange-clad, woman, then to a much fairer skinned, mint dress-wearing woman next to her. He didn’t notice the third girl because she had already run out of view into a sea of blue-coated soldiers. 

Burr slapped a hand on Alexander’s shoulder, dipped his head in a curt goodbye, then left to... do something Alexander was sure he didn’t care about. He only saw the women across the unsteady terrain of people. The sunset dressed woman captured his attention just a fraction more. He knew the lighting must have been dim throughout the beginning of the night until now, but he could have sworn it held a richer shade just for her. She glanced at her sister next to her, then moved. She moved forward toward him. He straightened his posture as much as needed without putting out an air of rigidity or ineptitude. He had to admit he liked the sway of her hips and the mystery in her eyes before she reached him. Her tongue darted out to wet her lips, a notion Alexander was incapable of ignoring. Finally, she was there. Her skin glowing in the warmth of the room and the candlelight. 

“Hi,” he said. 

She didn’t respond, but she sucked in a breath. Despite her momentary halt of breathing, Alexander could recognize a sign like that anywhere. His mouth opened, and as usual, his before thought was almost non-existent. 

“You strike me as a woman who has never been satisfied.” 

As if time had stretched on for years, her voice split the aged air bringing Alexander to her reality. 

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, you forget yourself,” she said. 

But she didn’t seem as if she was confused. Surprised, yes, but not confused. 

Alexander finished his thought, hoping to clear any “confusion,” “You’re like me, I’m never satisfied.” 

“Is that right?” 

He took a step forward, and so did she. 

“I have never been satisfied.” 

She looked into his eyes searching for answers. He hoped she found what she was looking for. 

She dropped her curious stare before saying, “My name is Angelica Schuyler.” 

Alexander didn’t miss a beat. 

“Alexander Hamilton,” then her eyes matched with his again. 

She tilted her head to the left, “Where’s your family from?” 

He took her hands in his, yet his gaze was not on her, “Unimportant, there’s a million things I haven’t done.” There were her eyes. “Just you wait.” 

He wanted to simmer in her company a while longer, but she turned her head away, and when she looked back her expression changed. He didn’t know why, but he thought he could see conflict and sadness in her eyes. She must be as lonely as him, so why did it feel like she wasn’t going to help him any longer? 

Her hands were still in his, when she took just one and led him away from their shared dream, and through the crowd. 

“Where are you taking me?” Alexander asked, a flicker of excitement still present, but slowly fading. 

His anxieties were not soothed when she said, “I’m about to change your life,” but he pressed on as if worry was never a thought in his mind. 

“Then, by all means, lead the way.” 

They arrived at the mint dress clinging to a beauty Alexander was drawn to, but slightly less so than her sister. 

The fairer-toned woman extended her hand and smiled. “Elizabeth Schuyler, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” 

Alexander turned to Angelica and scratched the back of his neck, “Schuyler?” he whispered. 

Angelica looked only at Eliza, but whispered back, “My sister.” 

Eliza brought Alexander’s eyes back on her. 

“Thank you for all your service,” she said. 

Alexander bowed and smiled. 

'If this is how tonight’s going to go, then so be it.' 

“If it takes fighting a war for us to meet, it will have been worth it.” 

Alexander grabbed Eliza’s hand, and planted a kiss, holding her eyes in his. They were dark brown. 

Angelica clasped her hands together, then said, “I’ll leave you to it,” and left. 

With Eliza’s hand still loosely around his, Alexander grabbed tighter and pulled her onto the ballroom floor. He twirled her, and she laughed. The sound was melodious and ever-so-pleasant, so he spun her again. At first, his enthusiasm for her was at a low, but in her company, just them, he enjoyed himself. She was lovely. So, he danced with her for hours. Moments came by when Lafayette or Mulligan tried to pull him away, but Alexander couldn’t be distracted. When their muscles had become overrun with exhaustion, they found seating outdoors and talked. 

Eliza had a wonderfully intelligent, and passionate mind, which lured Alexander in the further. He confided in her rapidly and left her slowly. They exchanged addresses for letters to be sent and received, they hoped, and finally, Lafayette and Mulligan ripped Alexander away from her. 

Lafayette, Mulligan, and Laurens could barely contain their shock when Alexander could not contain his pleasure at meeting Eliza. Apparently, all previous questions of feelings between him and Laurens and his sexuality laden in his mind had vanished. Vanished or repressed by a greater force, but either way, it was welcome to Alexander. 

When the four arrived at their bed and breakfast, Lafayette and Mulligan were the first to escape Alexander’s incessant rambling of the enthralling Eliza. Laurens toughed it out, though. Alexander didn’t register the strangeness of this because he couldn’t seem to focus on anyone but himself. 

Laurens rested upright on Alexander’s bed as he absorbed all the information shot at him. Once Alexander quieted for a moment, Laurens conjured a response. 

“You must really like her,” he said. “I’m happy for you, Alexander.” 

Alexander grinned widely at Laurens, as he continued his inexperience in perception. 

“She’s amazing, Laurens. I wish you had met her.” 

“Yeah, me too. If she has you ranting like this, she must be some woman.” 

Alexander placed a hand on Laurens’ shoulder. 

“She is,” he said. 

Laurens's shoulder twitched, and he quickly rose from Alexander’s bed. 

“I guess it’s my time to find someone then, huh?” 

Alexander laughed. 

“Don’t worry, Laurens. You’ll find her. Honestly, I’m surprised you haven’t found her before me,” Alexander’s smile held. “Anyone will be lucky to have you.” 

Laurens blinked once, then nodded. His eyes turned to stone, yet his lips told a different story. A comedy instead of a tragedy. 

Alexander expected a “goodnight,” or maybe a, “see you tomorrow,” but Laurens turned, walked out, and closed the door behind him. Alexander’s smile fell. A question hurtled toward him. Just one, but power doesn’t always come in numbers. 

'You know he loves you, right?' 

He shook his head to try and rid himself of the question. It was so unsettling, he didn’t know what to do after he thought it. He refused to believe himself because that couldn’t have been him, anyway. Why would that thought ever come? Well, it didn’t matter because it had no truth in it, so why listen? It was a preposterous idea, in the first place. Laurens loving him? That’s unheard of, that’s impossible, and he knows it would never happen. 

'Eliza could love me,' he thought. 

And before he went to sleep, he finished his thought. 

'And I could love her.'


	15. A. Hamilton

Three weeks later... 

A cramped dressing room, a day’s-old-outfit tossed haphazardly on the floor, a full-length mirror, and two men. One, donned in a glimmering, lightly perfumed, soldier’s uniform, preening in front of the vanity, and the other, directly behind the self-involved man, straightened the collar of his friend’s uniform. 

“You’ve helped me so much throughout all this wedding planning, Laurens,” Alexander, looking a few inches up and to the right, directly above his shoulder, locked eyes with Laurens. “It’s almost as if you’re getting married yourself.” 

Alexander’s eyes crinkled as his joke had been well-received, at least in his eyes. He twisted his body back to the mirror and put his hands on Laurens’ shoulders. 

“I cannot thank you enough. You are my closest friend, and the best choice for my best man.” Alexander pulled Laurens into a hug, reaching around Laurens’ neck, atop his taller friend’s shoulders, while Laurens wrapped his well-endowed arms around Alexander’s waist. The hug possessed no space between them, but wrinkle-free uniforms. 

Alexander did not leave the embrace as he whispered in Laurens’ ear, “I could never imagine you letting someone down. You’re too perfect-” Alexander felt Laurens’ arms tighten around his body. 

“Come on, Alexander. You know I’m not perfect,” Laurens said, a smile shunned from his features. “I’ve got just as many flaws as the next man.” 

Alexander pulled away, and with a welcoming smile, he said, “And that’s why I love you-” 

Laurens blinked twice in half a second. 

Alexander finished, “Because you think your flaws make you less perfect when they’re the best part about you.” 

Alexander waited for Laurens to respond. He was satisfied when Laurens reciprocated the gesture with a quiet, “I love you too.” Because of this reply, Alexander could comfortably turn back to himself and perfect his outer-image. After all, he wanted to impress his soon-to-be wife, and a good way to do so was looking like the last meal she’d choose to eat before she dies. Or, some other, less appropriate analogy. 

The door to Alexander and Laurens’ right whipped open to reveal a heaving Lafayette, and a mid-eye-rolling, full-glass-of-wine-holding, Mulligan. 

Mulligan pushed past Lafayette, who expected to achieve the first word, and approached Alexander with a warning. “You have two minutes, Hamilton,” he extended his arm holding the wine glass and offered a half-smile. “Thought you could use this.” 

Lafayette, still in the background with his hands on his hips, stared at Laurens with a scrunched nose and narrowed eyebrows. He walked over to Laurens, whose back was pressed against the wall, and stood next to him with crossed arms. 

“I was supposed to give petit Hamilton that drink, you know?” Lafayette huffed. “Hercules can be such a-” he raised his voice, which already carried through the room with ease, “-POMPOUS ASSHOLE.” 

Alexander and Mulligan shifted to face Lafayette, and while Alexander tried to hide his amusement, Mulligan felt no need masking an emotion he was not feeling. 

“You gonna keep talking, or are you gonna help this man out with whatever this hair is?” 

It was clear how much Lafayette had rubbed off on Mulligan since they first met. 

Alexander scoffed but reached a hand up to pat down whatever “this hair” was. He didn’t think there was anything wrong with what he had done, but apparently, no one else felt the same. 

“My hair is fine, Mulligan,” Alexander said, crossing his arms and glaring up at Mulligan. 

Lafayette left the wall and Laurens and raised his brows with a grimace. “Actually, mon ami, the walking corpse is right.” Lafayette’s eyes searched the room for a water source. Alexander had left a half-full glass of water on the dresser, so Lafayette plucked it from its place and poured some of the liquid onto his hands. 

“The problem with what you’ve done is that you’ve done nothing.” Lafayette was the new aid behind Alexander, and as he brushed his hands through Alexander’s hair, he pointed out little hairs poking out in different places. “You see these? These cannot be here. You must look like an eagle. Strong and sleek. Nothing can be out of place, understand?” 

As Lafayette trained Alexander in the art of mane-keeping, Laurens and Mulligan stood by the doorway, several feet away from the teacher and his student. Mulligan leaned into Laurens, lowering his voice to a whisper. 

“How you feeling?” Mulligan asked, making sure he kept watch of Lafayette and Alexander in case his words carried over. 

Laurens shrugged and kept his head facing forward. “I’m alright. I’m actually doing really well. This is good for him, you know? If he’s happy, I’m happy.” 

“You’re sure you’re okay?” 

Laurens clenched his jaw. “I’m fine, Mulligan.” 

Mulligan’s gaze dropped to his feet. He ran a hand along his head, then let it fall to Laurens’ shoulder. “I know, Laurens,” he granted Laurens a small smile, then turned his back to him as the two minutes had passed. “I know.” 

Mulligan’s hand once on Laurens’ shoulder, found its way to Alexander’s. “Time to give up your life, Hamilton. You ready?” 

Alexander laughed, and so did Lafayette. Both, for different reasons. 

“Yes, I am ready.” Alexander straightened his coat once more, grabbed the unfinished red wine Mulligan gave him earlier, and made it disappear with one gulp. He opened the door to leave, but turned around and stared at his friends. A little longer than what was comfortable. 

Lafayette crashed through the stillness first. “Are you trying to make yourself late, now?” 

Alexander laughed. “I just wanted to thank all of you for what you’ve done for me. Without you three, this day would have never happened.” 

Lafayette, Mulligan, and Laurens looked to each other all with grins as wide as barrels. They rushed Alexander and trapped him in their embrace. Alexander could no longer be seen from the outside, as his friends covered him completely. 

“Uh, guys?” Alexander said, his voice muffled as his face was pressed against Mulligan’s chest. 

“Oui?” 

“My hair?” 

“Mon Dieu, what were you two thinking?!” Lafayette pulled away, disgusted with himself for acting so rashly. “Mulligan, Laurens, you cannot ruin my masterpiece. Get off him, immediately!” 

Mulligan and Laurens snapped their arms back, then broke out into laughter, and no matter how much Lafayette pouted they were only encouraged to continue. 

Lafayette grabbed Alexander by the arm and led him down the aisle of the church and up the few steps to the right of the priest. Alexander had a smile on his face the whole way, and when his feet planted at his final resting place, he couldn’t rid himself of that smile even if he tried. 

He stood there, and he waited. Lafayette had left him, but he was not alone. A little over a hundred guests sat in the pews in front of him, all friends of the Schuyler’s, of course. The only people present for him was... well, you already know. So, as time passed, Alexander’s thoughts filled the space. What else would, anyway? 

He thought of Eliza. And when he did, he smiled. He thought of the love he felt for her, and the bond they shared. He thought of when he proposed, and when he asked Philip Schuyler for permission. The night he told her the truth of his parent’s passing, and others he had lost along the way. Her face when she sympathized, and her touch when she held him close, trying to protect him from any further harm. Or trying to reverse what had been done. He smiled because he loved her, but his thoughts took a turn. A route he didn’t want to take. His smile fell when he realized the destination. 

Laurens. John Laurens. 

'Stop,' he thought. 'Get out of my head.' 

But he didn’t. The image of his friend, his best friend, and confidant flooded his brain. He wished the images hurt him. He wished they were torturous, and he wished they burned him like fire, cut him like a knife, struck like lightning, and nailed him to a cross. 

But they didn’t. Because the fire he felt was in his stomach, and it warmed him like a hearth on a cold, winter morning. The knife cut away at the strings holding him back from what his true desire was. The lightning was illuminating and discovery. Like Benjamin Franklin, with the key and the kite, you see it, right? And that cross. Oh, that cross. He wasn’t nailed to it; he was on his knees in front of it. Despite his indifference toward religion and the idea of a God, all-powerful, he knelt because he thanked God for the man he had been given. He praised the Holy Spirit because Laurens made him feel holy and pure. Their connection was spiritual, and while it wasn’t blessed in the scripture, he couldn’t care less. Why should he care when he believed whatever sins he committed would be forgiven in the eyes of his beloved, Laurens? And, at least hypothetically, he was his, and only his, forever. 

And then, he smiled. 

Music corrupted his ears. The traditional wedding song played on a grand piano. Alexander whipped his gaze up from the ground, and down the aisle. The first couple to grace his eyes was the maid of honor and the best man. Better known as Angelica Schuyler and John Laurens. 

He caught Laurens’ eye, and he winked. 

'Fuck, why did I do that?' A tremor rippled through his gut. But it was quieted when Laurens winked back as if what he did was ordinary. Nothing special, just a gesture between friends. 

Laurens was to his left, now, and before he stood in his permanent place for the ceremony, he reached over to Alexander and patted him on the shoulder. Just once, and then he returned to his spot. 

Next down the line, Lafayette and Peggy. Lafayette whispered something in Peggy’s ear before they departed, causing Peggy’s jaw to drop and her eyes to expand greatly. 

'Oh, Lafayette. Always the flirt,' Alexander thought. 

Penultimate in the march, Hercules Mulligan, a regular flower boy. 

And lastly, Elizabeth Schuyler and her father. Alexander forgot he wasn’t the only one staring at her, as he took in the view of the crowd, backs facing him, all drinking in the sight of his fiancée. Well, maybe not drinking, but he knew he was. 

Her dress was white, and for the rest of the time, he looked at her this vague detail was the only one to stay with him. It was beautiful, yes, but why waste time looking at the clothing, when he could be productive and look at her? 

Eliza kissed her father on the cheek, and then there she was. Right in front of him with a heart-stopping smile, and eyes shining beams of light on him. This time, when he winked at her, the meaning was clear. And when she giggled and looked away, he had no tremor. No anxiety, just comfort. As the ceremony went on, and even as he said his vows, he couldn’t tear his eyes away from her. His mind held her face in its hands, and no one else. 

“You may kiss the bride.” 

Alexander smirked at Eliza, and raised one eyebrow, “You hear that? You’re my bride.” 

Eliza left an inch between them. “And you’re my husband.” 

Alexander let no measurements stand in their way. He grabbed her face and kissed her, and the cheering from the guests sounded like a faint buzzing to him. His lips met the love of his life, and now, she would be his one thought, and priority above all else. 

As the drinks refilled, the dancing quickened, and the cake was eaten, Alexander assumed the one person with the ability to stop him from pleasuring his wife, maybe a little too much, too soon, was Eliza. He later found his assumption to be wrong. There was one other person. 

. . . 

The Schuyler Mansion. The Reception. 

“This cake is delicious, but I’d rather be tasting you,” Alexander whispered, causing Eliza to gasp in front of Angelica and Peggy. 

Her sisters looked back and forth between each other with a raised question of, “What the hell was that for?” 

Eliza shoved Alexander away with her shoulder, then smiled and said, “My husband left a gift he had for me in the study. We’re just going to grab that, and we’ll be right back.” 

As the newlyweds scurried away, Peggy turned to Angelica with pursed lips. “Does she think we’re idiots?” 

Angelica crossed her arms and glared at the space Eliza previously stood. “Apparently, she does.” 

Eliza led Alexander to the study - which, in retrospect, should not have been the room they had gone to - then closed the door. Alexander’s mouth crashed into Eliza’s as he pushed her against a desk, and then a cabinet, and then the wall. His hands flew from her shoulders to the skirt of her dress, then lifted. His determination and desperation caused Eliza’s head to run wild. She couldn’t think, nor did she want to. She just wanted him. 

Alexander’s fingers, as well as his tongue, found a home inside Eliza. He used one hand to keep her dress bunched above his head, simultaneously pressing her hips to the wall, and the other hand left to do the real work. Her moans encouraged his fingers to move faster, and his tongue accompanied his handiwork well like the orchestra to the opera singer. 

“Alexander, please,” Eliza’s hands ran through his hair, and held tight, “don’t stop.” 

Her climax was moments away, and both of them knew it, he pushed harder, and faster, then- 

“Hey, are you guys-” A familiar voice, and when Alexander turned his face away from underneath Eliza’s dress, it was a familiar face as well. 

“Laurens,” Alexander said, wishing his eyes deceived him. 

Laurens’ eyes widened and they bounced between man and wife. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know you guys were- I mean, Angelica and Peggy told me you guys were here, I just didn’t-You know what? I’ll leave.” 

Eliza pushed Alexander away from her and tugged her dress back in place. A lot of things needed to go back in place. Alexander stood upright as Laurens turned away and shut the door. Eliza sighed and looked at Alexander with wide eyes. 

“That was-” She began, but found herself interrupted by the same voice that interrupted her earlier. 

“By the way, the speeches are gonna start soon. So, probably should get down there...” 

Eliza’s mouth hung open until she heard footsteps trailing away. 

“-weird.” 

Alexander leaned over to Eliza, then kissed her forehead. “He’s right, though. But don’t worry, we’ll finish this later.” 

Alexander looped his arm around hers, and led her out of the study, down the stairs, and into the ballroom. Trying to find their seats at the main table was like being stranded on an island and trying to find food for the first time in the middle of the jungle. There were too many people and too little space. 

Eventually, Alexander and Eliza cut through the mess and seated themselves in front of everyone. Some people stood by the free alcohol, some sat at their seats with their almost or completely finished meals, and some just waited. Alexander noticed Laurens, to his right, finish off a third pint of Sam Adams. 

'He’ll be fine,' Alexander thought, raising a glass, then capturing the attention of the mass. 

“I would like to thank everyone for being here to witness my wife and I join together as one, but we’ve done most of the talking, so I thought it might be a good idea to let someone else take the stand-” 

Lafayette, who didn’t care about other’s thoughts of him, interrupted Alexander, “For once!” 

Mulligan, standing beside Lafayette, did not hide his amusement this time, as he bent over in laughter. 

Alexander continued. “Thank you, Lafayette.” A smile. “And now, John Laurens, everyone. Let him speak, and let us listen.” 

Laurens stood up, drink out of hand, scanned the room for watchful eyes, then spoke. 

“Hamilton and I first met in a bar, when he was nineteen and I was twenty-two. I didn’t know who he was, or why Burr had brought him there, but I knew it wasn’t to meet Hercules, and Lafayette, and I.” 

Everyone laughed, except for Burr somewhere in the background. Laurens’ face scrunched at the reaction considering he did not mean to make people laugh at that moment. Alexander kept his eyes trained on his befuddled friend and laughed simply at his expression. 

“Anyway,” Laurens tried to regain the crowd’s attention, “the moment I met Hamilton, I knew we would become good friends. I told him how fascinated I was by him, how smart he seemed to be, and how our interests were so similar. Or, at least, I would have if he’d ever let anyone get a word in.” 

This time, everyone laughed including Burr. Laurens looked down at his hands momentarily, then pulled his shoulders back and continued. 

“We’ve fought in battles together, we’ve shared the losses of friends dear to us, and we’ve become almost inseparable.” Laurens glanced at Alexander and held his gaze. Alexander gave his focus to Laurens and smiled. “Then, Eliza came.” 

While Laurens cradled Alexander in his stare, Eliza wrapped herself around Alexander’s neck and kissed his cheek. Alexander kissed his wife back, and when he turned back to Laurens, the comfort of his imaginary touch recoiled. Laurens faced the crowd again, then cleared his throat. 

“Um,” Laurens giggled to himself, and Alexander’s memory slapped him on the back of the head. The alcohol was settling in. 

'He’ll be fine,' Alexander thought. 'He can handle it.' 

“And she made everything better,” Laurens said, teetering slightly on his feet. And here, Alexander finally noticed the other empty pints underneath the table. In total, along with the three on the table, he counted six. “Eliza was the... is the best thing that’s ever happened to Hamilton, and there’s nothing and-” this next part was shouted, “-NO ONE... that can come between them.” 

Alexander gripped Eliza’s hand tighter than she deserved, and looser than his nerves allowed. He looked to Lafayette and Mulligan, sitting at the table across from him and to the left. They stared at Laurens too. But not with wide eyes and furrowed brows like Alexander. Not with a clenched fist and a body no longer rested against the back of the chair, no. No, their eyes were soft. Their hands and shoulders drooped. And once Laurens’ speech finished, which Alexander missed completely, Lafayette and Mulligan dropped their heads and kept their eyes glued to their feet. Or, as Mulligan did, turned their body away from Laurens, and did not turn back. 

Alexander drifted in a trance until he heard the familiar sound of metal against glass. His eyes snapped to the source, and there was Laurens, grinning like a madman in front of him, one hand on a spoon, and the other on a half-empty pint. Alexander had a foot in concern for his friend, but he stepped out when Eliza grabbed his face and pulled him in for a kiss. 

He melted into her touch and latched onto the pleasure she gave him with a steady grip. He heard the crowd applaud, but he wouldn’t have pulled away until a voice growled above the rest. 

“Alright, alriiiight,” Laurens took a drink before finishing his slurred announcement, “That’s what I’m talkin’ about!” 

Everyone laughed, except for Alexander, Lafayette, and Mulligan. Their relationship with Laurens granted each of them with an awareness no other knew. Although, there were a few pieces of information Alexander missed as well. 

Alexander jolted back when Eliza whispered in his ear, “What’s wrong with Laurens?” 

Alexander trained his eyes on Laurens, who tripped over himself as he tried to find his way back to his seat. 

Alexander leaned into Eliza, then whispered back, “Nothing, my love. He’s just had a little too much to drink, but he’s fine. No need to worry.” 

Eliza hummed, then rested her head on Alexander’s shoulder. And, he should have been focusing on her, right? His beautiful wife at his side, in love with him. So, he was focusing on her. Except for the small, almost non-existent fact that he wasn’t. And it was his tumbling, rumbling, clouded, constricting mind’s fault. Because he couldn’t push back or resist the thought of another. His arm was around Eliza, but his arm would rather be... somewhere else. Maybe on Laurens, around his shoulder. If he needed a friend, Alexander could be there. But the night went on, and Alexander went along with it. Because no matter how much he wanted to, he couldn’t let himself be distracted. It was wrong and it was sickening. He could throw up at the idea. How could he be so caught up when the love of his life was right in front of him? So, no, he will not think of Laurens, and he will be happy, and he will think of his wife only. 

And he was happy, don’t get me wrong. He loved Eliza, and he showed her every chance he could. But there was that thought. Just the one. It didn’t spread; it was stationary. Sitting alone and silent in the back of his mind. It was a question, and like all questions formed in Alexander’s mind, he couldn’t leave it by itself. 

'What do you want from me?' Alexander asked, pressing the question further with his own. 

'You know what I want,' it said. And while it spoke; it sat still. Cross-legged, back against the wall. Not a wall, a chair. A chair with padding, and a chair with armrests. 

'Refresh my memory.' Alexander grew restless. He crossed his arms and tapped his fingers against his arm. 

'You know what I want because you want it too.' It stood. 'Say it. Say what you want. Admit it, and I’ll leave.' 

'I don’t want anything, I’m happy.' 

It chuckled and scratched its nose. 'You’ll never be happy how you are now. Because you can’t even admit this little thing. And I won’t leave until you admit it.' 

Alexander opened his mouth to speak, but the black hole interrupted him. 

'You don’t even know, do you?' It laughed. 'I can’t believe you haven’t figured it out yet. Well, now I’ll never leave, will I? How about this, I’ll strike you a deal. While I can’t leave yet, I will stop pestering you so much if you just say this one thing. It’ll help speed the process along, I promise.' 

Alexander narrowed his eyes. He couldn’t trust whatever this poison was, so why should he even be listening? 

'Look, I’m in your head, alright? I can hear that shit. I know you don’t think you can trust me, but then again, I’m you. So, get over yourself, alright? Anyway, all you have to do is ask me a question. Really, you’re asking yourself, but let’s get past the paradoxes and the awkward part and get to the juicy part. So, ask me the question you’ve been pushing away this whole night. Ask it, and I’ll stop talking. I’ll let you have the rest of the night to yourself... well, you know what I mean, and I’ll even let you fuck your gorgeous wife in peace. How about that? Sound like a deal?' 

'No, I won’t make a deal with you. If you’re me, then I can control you-' 

'Hahahaha... ah, nice try, sweetheart. You know that won’t happen, and to spice up the stakes, how about this? If you don’t say what you’ve been thinking, I’ll be in that bedroom with you. I’ll be in the rose petals your dear Eliza’s laid out all nice, and I’ll be in her. I’ll take her face, and I’ll put a different one on. And you know exactly whose face I’m gonna replace hers with. Whether or not you can admit it, you know.' 

A tear fell. Alexander brushed the drop of hurt away from his face and glared. Harder, and more furiously than he had ever before. But then, he reached out. He placed his hand in the emptiness, and the emptiness shook back. 

'If I say it- if I ask you this one question, you’ll leave Eliza and me alone. You’ll leave us alone and you won’t touch her.' 

The void rolled its eyes but nodded. 'I mean, you still don’t understand my purpose clearly, but sure. Tonight, you will find peace. I promise. Now ask me.' 

Alexander took a breath in, held it, then let it out. 

'What’s wrong with Laurens?' 

The insect leaned its head forward. 'And?' 

Alexander’s head dropped to the floor. 'And why can’t I stop thinking about him?' 

The parasite hummed. It nodded, and then it disappeared. It walked into the blackness of his mind and soaked in. Alexander was left alone. He dropped to his knees and held his face in his hands and cried. And even when he was with Eliza, beside her, inside her, and a part of her, he felt the breath was taken from him. He felt lifeless, but at least he could feel that much. At least the pain was there because if it wasn't, he didn't think he could bear it. 

Who could?


	16. J. Laurens

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Strong Sexual Content/Rape
> 
> Btw y’all this chapter is gonna hurt.

“Now, everyone, give it up for the maid of honor, Angelica Schuyler!” 

Angelica stood and walked past Laurens with a smile on her face. Or was she frowning? Laurens couldn’t remember. He tried to remember the expression on other’s faces as well, but his eyes rested on nothing. His hands found the headrests of chairs, and his own he thought. At least at one point. But now? Now, he filled another pint away from his friends, away from the audience. Just him and the liquor. He watched a fizz bubble at the top when he poured. Light brown liquid. A remedy, a medicine, brimming in a glass, then slowly washing through him inside and out. 

He heard Angelica’s voice in the background. He heard her speech, and the wavering in her voice. What was she feeling now? He had always known Angelica to be a strong, proud, and sometimes terrifying woman. So, what caused the trembling in her tones? At first, one might assume it was happiness. An abundance of it made a mess. Made to ruin because of its power, blinding, and earth-shattering. 

But then, he looked into her eyes. This, he remembered. He remembered because it was the same look he saw in his own eyes when he looked in the mirror. The mirror he used to get ready for the wedding, and the same mirror he and Alexander used to get him ready for the wedding. The one he used to straighten Alexander’s collar. The one he looked into as Alexander hugged him, and told him he loved him. And when he stared back at himself as he heard those words, he could have flown. 

Did Alexander know he meant it when he said those words back? Did Alexander mean it the same way he meant it? 

Laurens spent the ceremony mulling over those questions. He wanted Alexander to love him, but he knew he didn’t. Not in the way he wanted, at least. Or else he would be with him and not with Eliza. Just because they couldn’t get married traditionally, couldn’t they have made something work? 

'Couldn’t we make anything work?' Laurens thought, frozen in a loop of drink, then refill, drink, then refill. 

It didn’t take long for his mind to shut off completely, or, then again, was it his mind? Or was it his heart? 

If it was his mind, he’d have blacked out or something. He wouldn’t be able to watch people dancing, or watch Alexander and Eliza... kissing. He wouldn’t see the joy that others felt if his brain took the jump off a cliff. So, what did? 

It must be what he couldn’t feel anymore. 

He put his free hand over his chest in hopes of feeling a beating. A sign of life. But he felt nothing. He could feel his lungs working. He breathed in and out. He could feel his face and his chest and the skin on his bones, but not his heart. When he touched his neck to feel for a pulse, it was there. But, in truth, he felt like a puzzle. Almost finished, just one more, and then you realize you’ve lost the last piece. A bit of him was missing, and because of that one lost piece, all of him felt off. Out of place. Unfinished. 

Then, Laurens tried to smile. Maybe if happiness wouldn’t come to him on its own, he could force it in. The corners of his lips twitched, they pulled upwards, and there it was. A smile. Or was it a frown? Had he got it wrong? He couldn’t tell what he was doing anymore. 

“Help me,” he whispered. But no one came. 

“Anyone, please help me.” His cry was too quiet for anyone to hear. So, yet again, no one came. He wanted to reach out and grab Lafayette. Grab Mulligan. Grab anyone. Why couldn’t he feel anything? What was happening to him? 

But then, a voice. Rough and heavy and full of life. 

“Did you say something?” It said. 

Laurens twisted his head to the left and discovered the voice. It was a man. His skin was pale, and his hair was blond. Dirty blond, and pulled into a ponytail. Without a hair to cover his face, every feature was on display. Small forehead, dark brows, hooded eyes, a sharp nose, and thin, pink lips. 

“I-I said...” Laurens couldn’t remember what he said. 

The man smiled, bright and wide, and Laurens mimicked him. It felt real, didn’t it? 

“That happens to me too, sometimes. I say something one moment, and then the next it's forgotten. Does prove to be a bit annoying, sometimes, but such is life.” 

The man held a strawberry in his hand. Laurens glanced at it and didn’t look away. The man followed Laurens’ gaze, and suddenly the strawberry was closer. 

“Would you like one?” He asked. 

Laurens nodded. Although, this next moment surprised him. 

The man pushed the strawberry a few centimeters in front of Laurens’ lips. 

“Open,” he said. And Laurens did. Laurens saw the man blink, then smile as Laurens opened his mouth to hold the strawberry between his teeth before biting down, and swallowing. The man’s eyes narrowed slightly, and he sighed. His tongue darted out momentarily to wet his lips. 

“How do you feel, now?” He reached a hand out and wiped a stray, yellow seed out from the corner of Laurens’ mouth. Laurens looked down. A blush grew on his cheeks, but the man put a single finger under his chin and lifted. Now, they were eye-to-eye. 

Laurens cleared his throat, “I feel better.” 

The man squinted his eyes, and Laurens wanted to take a step back until the man spoke again. 

“How much better would you like to feel?” 

Laurens swallowed, then removed his chin from the man’s hold. He wanted to part from where he thought the conversation was heading, but he wasn’t out of the woods yet. 

“You haven’t told me your name,” Laurens said, grasping at straws. 

The man leaned a hand against the wall and tilted his head. 

“My name is Robert Grey,” he took Laurens’ hand in his, then leaned down to kiss it. Maintaining eye contact every step of the way. “At your service.” 

Laurens did not pull his hand away. Instead, he took a step forward. 

“Grey-” 

“Call me Robert.” 

Laurens nodded. “Robert, good to meet you. I’m John Laurens.” 

Robert, still hand in hand with Laurens, took a step forward. “John, good to make your acquaintance as well.” 

Laurens remembered them talking. He remembered being led to a chair, and speaking, and listening, and doing everything one does in an everyday conversation. He remembered Robert turning to leave. But he couldn’t do that. He couldn’t because as much as Laurens hated to admit it, he wanted Robert to stay. He wanted a hand to hold. He wanted someone to give him their attention. He wanted anyone, and he found Robert. So as Robert turned to leave, to go back to his hotel, home, or wherever, Laurens had to stop him. 

“Wait,” he said, leaving the chair and wrapping his fingers around Robert’s wrist. “Don’t leave.” 

Robert twisted his head around and looked into Laurens’ eyes. So tired and desperate. So lonely. 

Robert simpered at the sudden opportunity to be needed. “If you don’t want me to leave, what do you want from me?” 

Laurens took in the view of the crowd once more. How long had he been talking to Robert? It must not have been long because the music still played, and the people still danced. He saw Mulligan in conversation with Lafayette, and Alexander with Eliza. Alexander pulled Eliza in for a kiss, and there Laurens decided. 

With his eyes still latched on Alexander, he said, “I want you.” 

Robert’s eyes widened for a second, but then he put a hand on Laurens’ shoulder and leaned down slightly to whisper, “Then I’m going to go to one of the empty rooms in this ridiculously large mansion, and you’re going to come find me.” 

Robert’s hands drifted away from Laurens, and so did Robert. Laurens couldn’t remember how long he waited until his search began, but he didn’t think it was for long. Robert had gone through the crowd and up the stairs. While this didn’t help much to narrow things down, it was better than nothing. 

Laurens walked up the winding, wooden staircase and began with Eliza’s room. He opened the door and found no one. Then Angelica, then Peggy, and then Philip. No one, no one, and then no one. He searched the bathrooms, the walk-in closets, the storage rooms, but his search was fruitless. 

“What do I do now?” Laurens crossed his arms, then trudged down the hallways, leaning to the right and then to the left as his balance wavered. He felt like a mouse in a maze. The second he found his destination he would realize he’d put himself in a trap. But then he turned a corner. 

'The study,' he thought. 

The door was open just a crack, so he stepped forward once, and then once more. He took enough steps forward to reach the doorknob. He opened it, and there was the bucket of cream. The piece of cheese. The lure. Except it didn’t feel like a trap anymore. It didn’t feel like a trap when he saw Robert, sitting on a dark, wooden, writing desk with nothing but his breeches on. 

“Close the door,” he said. And Laurens did. 

“Come closer,” he said. And Laurens did. 

Laurens let himself fall into the vortex. Robert extended a hand, and Laurens took it. 

There was so little holding them back from each other. Nothing but a bit of fabric and uncertainty. Robert opened his mouth to encourage an unmoving Laurens, but his gesture was unneeded. Laurens’ eyes flitted to Robert’s. And then he moved. 

Laurens grabbed Robert’s face and smashed his lips against Robert’s thinner, grinning lips. Laurens pushed his body against Robert’s causing the writing desk to screech as it, too, was pushed back. Robert started from the outside and went in, pulling Laurens’ clothes off with ease. Laurens shoved his hands into Robert’s pristine ponytail and loosened. Robert’s hair was in Laurens’ hands now. Scrunched, then tugged, and pulled. Robert moaned into Laurens’ mouth, only egging Laurens on. Laurens laughed, then moved to further their passion. 

He swiped all paper and writing tools off the desk, and let them fall to the ground. The paper floated like sheets of snow, then followed the utensils where they lay. Laurens let Robert roam his neck and torso with his lips. Both of their chests bare, yet Laurens’ soon to be marked as Robert’s. Robert gripped Laurens’ waist and began to find his way further down. When Robert’s hands found their target, Laurens threw his head back and closed his eyes. 

“Robert,” he mumbled. 

Robert didn’t falter. 

“Yes, John?” 

“Don’t stop.” 

Robert hummed. “I would never.” 

Laurens didn’t remember doing it, but now his breeches were off, and so were Robert’s. Laurens had a hand on Robert’s hip, and the other on the back of his neck. His lips found the small space where Robert’s throat and collarbone met, then pressed down, and sucked. He used his tongue and his teeth, and whatever he could to hear Robert’s pleasure voiced. The pleasure he gave. 

Robert answered his call. 

“God, John,” he sighed. “I wanted you from the moment I saw you.” 

Laurens smirked. 

“And now I have you,” Robert said. Laurens was prepared to take this past the work of his hands and his mouth. To have Robert on that writing desk, right then. To push himself into this man, who had so fervently granted him the distraction he was looking for. His savior. 

But Robert didn’t think like Laurens. 

After Robert smiled, saying such possessive words, he switched. Like a light. And there he was, a victim to the light. Suspect to Laurens’ vision because he was vulnerable as well. Laurens could see him for who he was, and he didn’t like it. 

“You’re mine.” 

Robert grabbed Laurens’ waist and flipped their positions. Laurens’ front faced Robert, who was pressed against him. Laurens’ eyes widened, and they got wider when Robert turned Laurens around. 

Laurens’ hands flew to the surface of the desk to steady himself. He didn’t want it like this. 

“Robert, wait,” he said, trying to turn around, but Robert put a hand on Laurens’ back and pushed him down. His face was pressed against the desk, his arms bent, along with his body. 

“Robert, I don’t want it like this, I-” Robert reached around and put a hand on Laurens’ mouth. 

He leaned down, lips grazing Laurens’ ear, and he whispered, “Trust me, John. You’ll like it better this way.” 

And then he entered. 

Laurens squirmed and writhed under Robert’s claws. The alcohol had left his mind, and now he was aware. He felt the width of Robert’s cock, every inch pounding into him. He felt the rawness of his sex. He pushed his arms against the desk to release himself from Robert’s grip, but Robert grabbed Laurens by his hair and smashed his head against the desk. 

“Stop,” Laurens whimpered. A mist clouding his head. “Please...” 

Laurens’ body went limp against the desk. His arms dropped to his sides, but his body moved back and forth along with Robert’s thrusts. The blood trickled down Laurens’ face and onto the polished, wood surface. It fell down his cheeks like scarlet tears. Although not so foreign, as it mixed along with another liquid. Not tears, but sweat. His skin perspired heavily causing his nakedness as a whole to stick against the wood. The sound of Laurens’ incoherent cries, and the slapping of skin against skin, filled the hot air. 

Robert’s hands gripped Laurens’ hips so hard, bruises formed purple and black before he was even finished. He thrust again and again, and his moans got louder and louder. He pulled back and then ran Laurens through for the last time. 

“Fuck,” he grunted, pleasure racking his body. His legs trembled, and his breathing slowed. Robert grinned and peered down at the man before him. So much smaller now. 

“My dear, John,” he said, still inside of Laurens as he rested his body against Laurens’ back, and placed his chin on his shoulder. Their faces so close, a drop of blood smeared onto Robert’s face. 

“You lovely creature.” Robert tucked a stray curl sticking to Laurens’ cheek, behind his ear. “Now, it is my time to go, but this was nice. Maybe we can get together and do this again sometime.” 

Laurens gave him no response, so Robert slid out from inside Laurens earning a soft gasp. And for Robert, that was enough. 

As Robert finished dressing himself and putting his hair back in place, he said one last thing before he exited. “And I was right, wasn’t I?” 

Laurens slumped on the ground, leaning his side against the desk with his head pointed to his chest. 

“Right about what?” He asked. 

Robert approached Laurens and crouched down. “It was better this way,” He cocked his head. “Wasn’t it?” 

Laurens continued to stare at the floor. 

Robert’s neutral expression shifted to stone. He lurched forward and grabbed Laurens' chin with one hand. 

“Admit it,” he said. 

Laurens clenched his jaw and held Robert’s stare. “No.” 

Robert tightened his grip. “Admit it. Say, “I’m satisfied”.” 

Laurens grimaced, then spat in Robert’s face. “I’ll never be satisfied.” 

Robert blinked, then released Laurens from his clutches, and stood erect. Laurens furrowed his brows and kept his eyes on Robert as he moved to the door. 

Before Robert left, he turned back around and smiled. 

“You know what, John?” He opened the door. “It’s better you said that. Now, I’m satisfied.” 

And he was gone. 

Laurens sat there for a few seconds, and then a minute, and then an hour must have passed. He didn’t know how long he was frozen in place, but he did remember when his muscles picked him up before his mind could. He grabbed his clothes off the floor and dressed himself piece by piece. He pulled his hair back into a ponytail and straightened his jacket one last time before picking up the mess he had made. When he was done, he grabbed the doorknob, twisted it, and left. 

He walked through the halls, but before he could rejoin the party, he saw a familiar face. He thought he would be fine when he confronted his friends. He planned to say nothing, and act like what happened was nothing. But the moment came faster than he expected because Hercules Mulligan stood a few feet in front of him with a tightness in his brows. In his entire face. 

“Laurens,” he said. Approaching Laurens with his arms outstretched in the form of a question. This question. “What happened to you?” 

There was no one else around to hear them. No one to judge and no one to even care. 

Before Mulligan reached him, Laurens dropped to his knees. He hid his face in his hands and cried. Mulligan rushed to his friend and wrapped his arms around him. Holding him so tight, Mulligan’s body shook with him. 

“What’s wrong, Laurens? What happened?” 

Laurens leaned his head against Mulligan’s shoulder, so his tears soaked into Mulligan’s shirt. He wrapped his arms around Mulligan. His comfort. His solace, and his true savior. 

When Laurens gained a small scrap of control over his sobs, he pulled away to look into Mulligan’s eyes. To confess. Because what he thought he wanted, what we thought would be good, twisted into his worst nightmare. 

“Hercules, I-” Laurens couldn’t look Mulligan in the eyes. His voice went raw as he cried out, “I can feel again.” 

Here, Laurens lost all control. And Mulligan, doing the best he could, held even tighter.


	17. A. Burr

Alexander Hamilton. 

He drank champagne by the bar as the crowd slowly withered down and departed to return home. Burr held his drink between two hands and leaned against a threshold. He wasn’t sure why he only watched Alexander. He would have approached him sooner, but he saw a familiar trio dive into the drunken waters where Alexander swam. 

The occasion was happy. Burr was happy. Everyone was happy. 

The overwhelming smiles and laughter coming from the three, now four, toppled Burr’s focus. When his eyes finally drifted from Alexander, he looked to the faces of the other men. Lafayette, a man who clearly did not like him, but can only be held in high regard for his dedication to the cause and refusal to let others, or himself, be pushed around. Mulligan, a less rambunctious sort, but just as crude as Lafayette, and still a respectable man because Burr could never imagine this man without his bravery and heart. And lastly, Laurens. While Burr might wish he could think poorly of him, the idea is simply impossible. Laurens is selfless and Laurens is a fighter. Like the rest of them, he will never be knocked down. No matter how much you think you have beaten them, you will always find your end on the losing side. 

Burr never expected to let himself think well of these men. He seldom puts anyone else above his standing, but some people refuse to let you think of them as lesser. Although, he could never let them know of his true feelings for them. 

But Alexander was a different story. 

To prove this, Burr began to approach the dancing idiots, and the only one to acknowledge his presence was Alexander. 

“Well, if it isn’t Aaron Burr,” Alexander said. His smile was lazy but true as he shrank the space between them. 

Burr smiled back and dipped his head while his hands still clutched his drink. “Sir.” 

“I didn’t think that you would make it.” Alexander placed a hand on Burr’s shoulder. 

“To be sure,” Burr heard his name uttered by Lafayette, Mulligan, and Laurens, but opted to ignore them. “I came to say congratulations.” 

Mulligan waved his arms in the air, “Spit a verse, Burr!” 

Burr raised his brows and looked to the three, “I see the whole gang is here.” 

“You are the worst, Burr.” Lafayette spun around and found his way back to Laurens, who hadn’t moved to greet Burr yet. 

Alexander rolled his eyes at Lafayette, but a smile still graced his features. 

“Ignore them. Congrats to you. I’ve heard you’re a lieutenant colonel, now.” Alexander circled Burr. “I wish I had your command, instead of manning George’s journal.” 

Burr kept his eyes trained on Alexander. “No, you don’t.” 

Alexander raised a brow. “Yes, I do.” 

“Now, be sensible,” Burr placed a hand on the back of Alexander’s head. “From what I hear, you’ve made yourself indispensable.” 

Burr wasn’t ready from the hand that appeared on his shoulder, so he pulled away from Alexander. The hand belonged to Laurens, who said, “Well, I heard you’ve got a special someone on the side, Burr.” 

Alexander’s swiped Laurens’ arm and said, “Is that so?” 

Laurens’ face only got closer and closer to Burr’s as he said this, and Burr dropped his head to escape from the smell of alcohol and truth. 

Laurens was unrelenting. “What’re you trying to hide, Burr?” 

Out of nowhere, Mulligan appeared behind Burr, unaware of the situation, and dancing nonetheless. 

Burr laughed and cleared his throat, “I should go.” 

Alexander stepped in, whilst laughing, and said, “No, these guys should go.” He began to pry Mulligan and Laurens away from Burr. 

“Leave us alone,” he said, willing the grin away from his face only present because of his friends’ playful antics. 

Laurens and Mulligan began to move away, however undesirable that option was, and rejoin Lafayette much further away from the bar than necessary. 

Alexander turned back around to Burr. “It’s alright, Burr. I wish you’d brought this girl with you tonight.” 

Burr took a step back then forward, and said, “You’re very kind, but I’m afraid it’s unlawful.” 

Alexander crossed his arms and leaned his head forward. “What do you mean?” 

“She’s married.” 

“I see,” Alexander nodded his head with a fish-out-water expression on his face. 

“She’s married to a British officer,” Burr finished. 

“Oh, shit.” 

Burr decided his best bet was to divert from this topic. 

“Congrats again, Alexander,” the corner of his lips raised. “Smile more.” 

Alexander followed his request. 

Burr dipped his head, handed his glass to Alexander, and walked past him to leave. The conversation had gone on long enough. 

“I’ll see you on the other side of the war.” 

Alexander didn’t turn around. Instead, to halt Burr’s movements, he spoke. “I will never understand you.” Then, he turned around. “If you love this woman, go get her. What are you waiting for?” 

Burr stopped in his tracks and faced Alexander. “I’ll see you on the other side of the war.” 

Alexander quickly closed the distance and placed his hand on Burr’s shoulder. “I’ll see you on the other side of the war.” And he left Burr at the bar alone. 

Burr looked around for a second and then walked out the door to go home. He found a carriage ready to take him on his way, so he entered and sat. The carriage’s windows had been left covered, so all he saw was an empty seat in front of him, barely detectable in the lightless room. 

He closed his eyes when the carriage began to move, and he reflected. 

Alexander Hamilton had appeared in his life countless times. He would call him a friend, and yet, he admitted his feelings were not always pure. How could Burr have begun his life on such a similar path to Alexander, yet one seems to rise so much faster than the other? 

So, Burr began in the best place he knew. The beginning. 

. . . 

1776\. New York City. 

“Pardon me, are you Aaron Burr, sir?” 

'Apparently, I can’t enjoy today in peace,' Burr thought. A young man’s face in front of him, curious and eager. He didn’t want to deal with this right now, but he doubted the boy would leave him alone. 

He sighed, “That depends, who’s asking?” 

The young man smiled, “Oh, well sure, sir. I’m Alexander Hamilton. At your service. I have been looking for you.” 

“I’m getting nervous,” Burr said, taking a step back from the much more curious and eager attitude he expected. 

Despite his worries, Alexander continued. 

“Sir, I heard your name at Princeton. I was seeking an accelerated course of study. When I got sort of out of sorts with a buddy of yours...” He paused, looked down, then looked into Burr’s eyes. “I may have punched him. It’s a blur,” he scratched the back of his neck. “He handles the financials?” 

Burr raised his eyebrows, “You punched the bursar?” 

Alexander snapped his fingers. “Yes! I wanted to do what you did, graduate in two, and join the revolution. He looked at me like I was stupid, I’m not stupid.” Alexander glared at the memory, then threw himself back into the conversation. “So, how’d you do it? How’d you graduate so fast?” 

Burr’s gaze dropped to the floor. He didn’t know if it was appropriate to say the real answer to Alexander’s question but felt a need to. 

“It was my parent’s dying wish before they passed.” 

“You’re an orphan?” Alexander’s eyes widened. “I’m an orphan. God, I wish there was a war, then we could prove that we’re worth more than anyone bargained for.” 

Burr cocked his head. “Can I buy you a drink?” 

Alexander smiled and nodded. “That would be nice.” 

Burr began to lead Alexander to a bar not far from where they stood. The conversation continued, and Alexander didn’t seem to notice anything else around him except for Burr. He focused solely on his target, and Burr appreciated the undivided attention. Mostly because people didn’t view him with such a high level of fascination often. When they reached the bar, they didn’t enter. They didn’t enter because Alexander stopped moving. He stopped moving because of a string of advice Burr gave. 

“Talk less,” he said. 

Alexander furrowed his brows. “What?” 

Burr raised his chin, then said. “Smile more.” 

Alexander chuckled. 

“Don’t let them know what you’re against or what you’re for.” Burr kept his arms to his sides, and the tone heavy. 

Alexander’s lips parted. “You can’t be serious.” 

“You want to get ahead?” 

“Yes.” 

“Fools who run their mouths off wind up dead.” 

And then, they entered the bar. The second they made their way into the heated mass of people, mostly soldiers, Burr had his eyes tied to a group of three. Laurens, Lafayette, and Mulligan. While Burr did not want to talk to them, just like most things in life, nothing went his way. Burr watched as Alexander, a nineteen-year-old immigrant from the Caribbean, melted into the trio’s energy. Throughout the night, Alexander opened up and soon enough took the group by storm. He spat words like canon-fire and left anyone listening for dead. And, of course, Laurens, Lafayette, and Mulligan loved him for it. Burr could not deny Alexander had an electricity about him he had never seen before. He was full of desire and passion. He didn’t need to beg people to listen to him; they couldn’t help themselves. 

'I like him,' Burr thought. 

But this was not the only thought Burr held for Alexander. His admiration continued untarnished until one spark of a night in George Washington’s quarters. 

. . . 

Burr knew he had to do it. He couldn’t hold off any longer, so he didn’t. The tent was partially open. Burr slipped through and stood in his place, glowing under warm, yellow candlelight. A writing desk several feet in front of him, and sitting down behind the desk was George Washington. Washington held a quill in his hand and looked up to the disturbance of peace. 

Burr dipped his head in greeting. “Your excellency, sir.” 

Washington’s brows knit together, and he let the quill find its place on the table. “Who are you?” 

“Aaron Burr, sir. Permission to state my case?” 

“As you were.” Washington’s gaze followed Burr as he relaxed in his position and took a step forward. 

“I was a captain under General Montgomery until he caught a bullet in the neck in Quebec, and, well, in summary, I think that I could be of some assistance. I admire how you keep firing on the British from a distance.” 

Washington leaned back in his chair. His only response was a quiet, “Huh.” 

“I have some questions. A couple of suggestions on how to fight instead of fleeing west.” 

Washington nodded. “Yes?” 

“Well-” Burr began but did not finish because a certain someone walked through the door. 

“Your excellency, you wanted to see me?” Alexander leaned forward with his head, keeping the rest of his body steps behind him. 

Washington turned to Alexander. “Hamilton, come in, have you met Burr?” 

Alexander found a place to stand to the right of Burr, and he maintained eye contact with his acquaintance. Burr did the same. 

“Yes, sir,” Alexander said. 

And simultaneously, Burr and Alexander said, “We keep meeting.” 

Burr ripped his eyes away from Alexander and dipped his feet in the dirty waters of conversation with Washington. 

“As I was saying, sir, I look forward to seeing your strategy play out.” 

“Burr?” Washington said. 

Burr raised his brows. “Sir?” 

Washington delivered his final sentence. “Close the door on your way out.” 

Burr’s eyes narrowed, but he did not look at Alexander or Washington again as he turned his back to his maker and deserted the scene. 

. . . 

“We’re here,” The carriage driver said. His gruff voice snapping Burr into reality. 

He abandoned his seat, paid the driver, and began his journey inside his temporary home. The streets were empty, and a fog had settled over the town. It was thick, and before Burr went into the hotel, he saw a bench. Under spotlight from a street lamp, and almost like a sign. His hand was on the doorknob to a rested night in the comfort of a bed, but he couldn’t refuse his gravitation to the bench. 

His legs pulled him into the strange lure, and he sat. And he thought. 

Why had Washington pushed him to the side so quickly the second Alexander entered the room? Why did Washington deem his presence as lesser to that bastard, orphaned, son of a whore? 

Burr couldn’t answer that question, so he stewed in his frustration. He looked at Alexander as a friend. He still does. But why does he always end up one step behind? And not only on the battlefield, and in the eyes of their general, but in female company as well? While Burr no longer addressed this situation as heavily anymore, thanks to his dear, Theodosia, he couldn’t mute what he felt when she was not a part of his life. When his eyes were on Angelica Schuyler. When he could not acquire her attention, Alexander did in a moment. In stumbling upon each other’s windows to the soul. He watched the pull like fire in oxygen between Alexander and Angelica. And even when she ended up denying him, she set him up with her sister, Eliza? Why? Why do people- why does life cater to Alexander so heartily? 

There are, of course, times when Alexander has struggled, when things haven’t come easy, but he never let that stop him. He doesn’t take a break; he doesn’t pause or wait. 

'But I do,' Burr thought. 'And even though Hamilton’s relentless and wastes no time, I’ll survive because I paid for it. He’s a few steps ahead, but there’s no one else like me. Inimitable. Original. No one could use those words to describe Hamilton. So, no matter how much it seems like he’s progressing, I’ll rise because I waited. And I’ll wait for it as long as I have to.'


	18. J. Laurens

“What’s wrong, Laurens? What happened?” 

Laurens leaned his head against Mulligan’s shoulder, so his tears soaked into Mulligan’s shirt. He wrapped his arms around Mulligan. His comfort. His solace, and his true savior. 

When Laurens gained a small scrap of control over his sobs, he pulled away to look into Mulligan’s eyes. To confess. Because what he thought he wanted, what we thought would be good, twisted into his worst nightmare. 

“Hercules, I-” Laurens couldn’t look Mulligan in the eyes. His voice went raw as he cried out, “I can feel again.” 

Here, Laurens lost all control. And Mulligan, doing the best he could, held even tighter. 

Laurens’ body shook under Mulligan’s embrace. A tidal wave had assassinated his being, and he was lost in the middle of an ocean. Mulligan parted the sea as he put one arm under Laurens and lifted him to his feet. Voices approached, unwelcome and untimely, so Mulligan found a room belonging to Angelica Schuyler and made it their own. 

Laurens’ cries did not rest as Mulligan laid him on the orange and white bedsheets soon to cover Laurens. Mulligan pulled the tucked sheets out from under the bed and used them to cloak Laurens’ crumpled body. Mulligan lied on the bed next to Laurens, and put his arms around him, hoping his efforts had healing power. 

Laurens shut his eyes and began to take one, slow breath in, hold it, then let it out. Inhale, hold, then exhale. He did this several times until the tears stopped flowing, and his mind began to clear. A sob rose to the surface, but Laurens forced it away with a rumble from his chest. 

He had gone so many days, weeks, months, and even years longing for Alexander. A needle pierced his heart every time he had felt his touch, been comforted by his words, or soft expressions. Like a smile. Or a wink. And every time euphoria erupted through his bones, he was reminded what reality is. When Eliza came into Alexander’s life, into both of their lives, he didn’t want to admit what he knew was coming. It was an undeniable fate. 

His fate, leading down a tunnel and separating him from the stupid man he loved. He could not, and can never have Alexander as his own. And Eliza proved that. But, so did Alexander. 

Laurens decided to open his thoughts to Mulligan. 

“Hercules?” He opened his eyes. 

“Mmhmm?” Mulligan replied. 

Laurens left the warmth of the comforter and Mulligan, and sat up. He turned to face Mulligan, and Mulligan arose so they were face to face. 

“Why-” He paused. A stone in his throat appeared, but he swallowed, and it was gone. “Why did I ever think I could have Alexander?” 

Mulligan sighed. 

“Because we always want what we can’t have.” 

Laurens sucked in a breath. He assumed new tears would fall, but the waters must have run dry because he just felt a hand around his heart. He felt it tighten, loosen, and then leave him. 

That must have been truth, then. 

At first, he wanted to continue tormenting himself. He had so many empty questions. Empty because the answer had already been fulfilled. He knew every reason and every block in his path. He had to let them go, didn’t he? 

“Thank you for being here for me, Herc.” 

Mulligan smiled and put a hand on Laurens’ shoulder. 

“Laurens, I would never want to be anywhere else.” His smile faltered. “But I have to ask.” 

Laurens raised his head and stared into Mulligan’s eyes with a query laced in his brows. “Ask what?” 

“You said, “I can feel again.” I asked you what was wrong, and you said you could feel again,” Mulligan’s eyes narrowed. They became heavy and darker than before. “Why would that be a problem?” 

Laurens gritted his teeth as his “problem” rushed back to his mind. A soulless memory with a rotting corpse for a face, and bloody hands as a voice. But he had to explain. So, Laurens killed himself. Because that was what it felt like to revisit the scene in the study. 

He rose from the dead, and started from the beginning of the night, how he met Robert Gray, how he initiated their physical attachment, and finally how Robert left him on the ground, naked, with a mess to clean. 

By the end, Mulligan was warm. Laurens had a hand on the back of Mulligan’s neck to try and calm him, and when he made contact his skin was like holding your hand as close to a flame as you can before you get burned. His breathing had changed too. His eyes, if humans were capable of this, had turned black. 

“Hercules?” Laurens snapped his fingers. “Herc? You gonna say something?” 

Mulligan’s eyes, aligned with the wall behind Laurens, met Laurens’ gaze. The intent behind them almost brought fear into Laurens’ heart, but then he remembered the intent would never be for him. 

“Hercu-” 

“So,” Mulligan’s jaw clenched. “When are we gonna kill this guy?” 

Laurens’ eyes widened. 

“What did you say?” 

“I said,” Mulligan let out a breath. “When are we gonna kill this guy?” 

“I-” 

Mulligan grabbed Laurens’ shoulders and shook them once. 

“Look, Laurens. If you don’t kill him, I will. And if you don’t think we should kill him, don’t just think about what he did to you. Think about what he’s already done. Think about what he will do to other people. This... cockroach of what can only biologically be called a man, can’t continue his life. We can’t let him continue. It’s now or never. Don’t you want revenge?” 

Laurens’ mouth parted. 

What did he want? Everything had happened so fast, he hadn’t the time to think about doing anything to Robert. He forgot there was another option past taking what had been done to him and living with it. He forgot about closure. And he forgot about sweet, sweet revenge. 

He stared into Mulligan’s eyes, and Mulligan smiled only in mimicry of the wolf-like grin on Laurens’ face. 

“Before I do anything, there are two things that need to happen.” Mulligan nodded, so Laurens continued. “One, I will not kill Robert Gray in cold-blood. I may want revenge, but I won’t bring myself down to his level, so it has to be a duel.” 

Mulligan might not have agreed with this regulation, but it was Laurens’ battle, and no matter what rules he set, Mulligan would always be there for him. 

“And two,” Laurens’ smile stretched wider. “Get me Lafayette.” 

. . . 

Mulligan scanned the half-slumbering, half-dancing crowd until he found Lafayette. The idiotic Frenchman held a glass of champagne in one hand, and a woman’s hand in the other. He leaned down to kiss the top of her hand, but before he could Mulligan stalked over to Lafayette and ripped him away from his distractions. In doing so, the woman screeched, but not because Lafayette was out of her grasp, because the glass of champagne fell to the floor and shattered causing shards of glass to pelt the bottom of her dress. 

Mulligan rolled his eyes. Then, he glared when a hand started beating him across the back of his head. 

“You fucking party-ruiner,” Lafayette slurred. “How dare you take me away from the two loves of my life.” 

Mulligan pulled Lafayette up the staircase, giving him no answer until he found an empty hallway, with a very nice wall that he could use to slam Lafayette against. 

Lafayette’s eyes widened; a small percentage of the alcohol wore off courtesy of the new bruise soon to form on the back of his head. He opened his mouth to speak, but Mulligan covered it with his hand and took the mic. 

“Don’t speak, Marie.” Lafayette’s raised a brow at the use of one of his names only uttered by Mulligan when he was either very annoyed or very angry. Lafayette was pretty sure it was a mix of the two though. 

“You’re not going to talk until I say you can,” Mulligan said. He took a breath, let it out, then found the right words. “Laurens... Laurens needs our help. He needs it now. I won’t tell you all the details, but I will tell you this. He was taking the wedding harder than we thought, and he thought he could find comfort in a stranger, and then that stranger... raped him. He raped Laurens.” 

Lafayette struggled against Mulligan, then stopped. Mulligan sighed and removed his hand. He watched as Lafayette straightened his coat, stood tall, and put his hands to his sides. 

“So, you need my help to kill him.” 

Mulligan nodded. “Yes, Laurens asked for you.” 

“Where is he?” 

“Angelica’s room.” 

They made their way to the room and when they met with Laurens, they formed a plan. Each left the room with a single goal on their minds. And that goal... excited them. 

. . . 

Lafayette’s head swirled without alcohol, but with malice. He wandered through the sweating bodies on the dancefloor and found a man. He was told to look for dirty blond hair, hooded eyes, a sharp nose, thin lips, and evil running through the veins. Lafayette didn’t have a doubt in his mind when his eyes landed on such a character. His hair was pulled into a ponytail, and he leaned against a wall, drinking champagne, with his dead eyes searching the crowd. He caught Lafayette’s and he furrowed his brows, then smiled. 

No, not a smile, a smirk. 

Lafayette stepped forward loving the image of slapping the smirk off his face, but he let that image live only in his head because he had a mission, and he wouldn’t fail Laurens. 

He approached Robert and leaned his back to the wall, only inches apart arm-to-arm. Robert turned to face Lafayette. 

“Something on your mind?” He asked. 

Lafayette tilted his head to the right, letting his face pose a picture for Robert. He kept his stare in tune with Robert’s, and pulled his bottom lip between his teeth, then slowly tugged it away. Robert kept his eyes on the show of teeth and lips, then drifted back to Lafayette’s eyes. 

Lafayette leaned forward. He let his lips brush Robert’s earlobe, and a strand of Robert’s hair tickled his nose. He smiled because he never knew the devil could be seduced so easily. 

“Is something on my mind?” Lafayette said, keeping his tones low and breathy. He sighed, starting from a high note and dropping somewhere near a middle C. “Would it be so bad if I said you?” 

Lafayette took another step forward. His hips grazed Robert’s. 

Robert’s eyes widened, but he quickly gained composure and let a short laugh fall from his lips. 

“It would be bad if anyone caught you saying something like that to me,” Robert grabbed Lafayette’s hand and squeezed with feather-like pressure. “But if you wanted to go somewhere less... crowded, you could say all the bad things you want to, and no one would ever hear except me. And I promise you, I wouldn’t tell a soul.” 

Lafayette laughed, then placed his lips around Robert’s earlobe and sucked. 

Robert groaned. “By the way, my name is Robert Gray. Before we do anything else, we might as well get acquainted.” 

Lafayette tightened his grip around Robert’s hand and began leading him out of the Schuyler mansion. When they reached the outside, Robert stopped Lafayette from pulling him any further. 

“Aren’t you going to tell me your name?” He asked. 

Lafayette turned to face Robert with a smile on his face. 

“Mon chéri, do you really need to know my name to follow me into the woods and fuck my brains out?” 

Robert looked like he swallowed a bug. 

“Uh, no,” he stumbled through his thoughts. “No, I don’t.” 

Lafayette let go of Robert’s hand, winked, then said, “Then stay here, count to ten, and come find me.” 

Robert’s lips parted, and he took a step forward. “But-” 

“Don’t worry, Robert,” Lafayette leaned forward and pressed his lips to Robert’s cheek for a second, and then pulled away. “You don’t have to close your eyes or anything. You can watch me run, and all you have to do is go in the same direction.” 

Before Robert could respond Lafayette spun around and began to run. Eight seconds had passed by the time Lafayette disappeared among the trees. And when ten seconds arrived, Robert was sprinting. He could hear Lafayette in front of him, faintly behind his own breathing and crushing of earth beneath his feet. He brushed past leaves on branches on trees, and more than once got snagged on a thorn. But nothing would stop him. Lafayette was too goddamn captivating, and unlike the less than pathetic fucking he had earlier, Lafayette might give him a bit more excitement. Although, he couldn’t deny he loved to tear into a virgin every once in a while. In fact, he might find himself masturbating to those little whimpers in the future. But for now, the only prize on his mind was Lafayette. 

He ran faster, and then he reached a small clearing and came to an almost failed stop. His eyes had to register the sight before him. And when they did, a phrase left his lips as soon as his mind managed the thought. 

“What the fuck?” 

Robert’s jaw was slack as he scanned the scene in front of him. Lafayette stood to his right, along with another dark-skinned, cropped-haired man he didn’t recognize, his brother was to his left, along with what could only be assumed as a medic, and a familiar conquest directly in front of him. John Laurens. With a less familiar gun pointed at his face. 

Laurens tilted his head and raised a brow. 

“I understand this might be confusing for you, so let me break it down,” Laurens drank in the vision of his rapist confused and defenseless only a hundred or so feet apart from him. “You played your game, but now it’s my turn. I can’t change what happened because it’s in the past, but I can change what happens in the present.” 

Robert took a few steps forward as the scenario built in his head. A smile begged to grow on his face, but he didn’t grant it permission just yet. 

Laurens continued. 

“I’m challenging you to a duel.” 

Robert let his mouth do what it wished. It grew into a smile, then opened, and let out a thunderous laugh. Robert threw his head back and didn’t stop laughing for much too long. 

“You want to challenge me? To a duel?” The laughter rose and fell again. “You can’t even throw a guy off you when he’s fucking you and you don’t want it anymore. So, what makes you think you could kill me?” 

He began to laugh again, and that’s when Lafayette charged. The only thing stopping Lafayette from killing Robert then- and it wouldn’t have been Robert’s surprised expression or his hands coming up to protect himself- was Mulligan. He stepped in front of Lafayette and put a hand on his friend’s shoulder. 

“Laf, calm down. This is Laurens’ fight, not ours.” 

Lafayette took a breath, then spat at Robert, and turned around. He found his place where he previously stood. 

Robert smiled again and twisted to face Laurens. 

“My god,” he said, crossing his arms. “If it’s gonna cause this much drama, then fine. Hand me a gun, and I’ll show you why you should have gotten over this sooner.” 

Laurens nodded at Robert’s brother who handed a revolver to Robert. 

Robert winked at his brother and leaned forward to whisper in his ear. Whatever he said caused his brother to smile, then glance at Laurens and chuckle. 

Robert stood ten paces away from Laurens as he loaded the gun. 

“I’m sure you brought my brother here as my second, and whichever one of those two pussies already tried to talk this duel down?” 

“More or less, yes.” 

“Okay, then let’s get to counting.” Robert put his gun-hand to his side and straightened his posture. “I’ll make you regret this, John.” 

Laurens looked down, then found Robert’s eyes, held their gaze with his, and he smirked. 

“Mulligan,” he said, straightening his posture as well. “Start the count.” 

“One.” 

The forest quieted. No birds or squirrels or animals of any kind made a sound. Maybe they knew what was about to happen. 

“Two.” 

Lafayette and Mulligan remained where they stood. Their eyes on Robert. 

“Three.” 

The medic had his hands behind his back, holding a medical bag between his fingers. He didn’t seem nervous. 

“Four.” 

Robert’s brother kept his focus on Robert. Flashbacks flooded his head of target practice with Robert when they were young. Robert always beat him. 

“Five.” 

The moon shone a silvery glow on Laurens. For some reason, the light caught him better than it did Robert. Or anyone else. 

“Six.” 

Sweat pooled on Robert’s forehead. There was a twitch in his eye. 

“Seven.” 

Laurens took a breath. 

“Eight.” 

He held it. 

“Nine.” 

He let it go. 

“Ten.” 

He fired. 

Laurens's heart seemed to pound through his chest as if it was trying to break free. He felt blood trickle down his face. He reached a hand up to touch his temple. It was wet. 

He looked at Robert in front of him. Only, he wasn’t at eye-level anymore. His place was on the ground, where he would stay. 

Mulligan and Lafayette rushed to Laurens’ side. 

“Are you hurt, Laurens?” Lafayette grabbed his friend by the shoulders. 

Laurens couldn’t seem to focus on his friends. Only Robert. 

He pushed them to the side, and they would have been more worried until they saw the smile on his face. 

“I’m fine,” he said. 

Then, he walked toward Robert. He saw where the bullet hit. And it couldn’t have been more fitting. 

Robert groaned and writhed on the ground. The medic put his hands over Robert’s heart, trying to stop the blood flow, but he knew there was no point. 

“Thank you,” Laurens said. 

Robert coughed up blood, spattering his clothes, and his face. “For what? You killed me!” 

Laurens crouched down, let his face be the only picture in Robert’s mind in his last moments, and said, “You know what, Robert? It’s better you said that. Now, I’m satisfied.” 

Laurens stood up, turned around, and walked away. He tucked his revolver in the back of his breeches, then threw his arms around Lafayette and Mulligan’s shoulders. They made their way through the forest, and on their way back to the party, Lafayette did what he could to clean the blood off the side of Laurens’ face. The bullet had nicked his head, and just an inch to the left and Laurens would have been dead. 

They were thankful for Robert’s less than perfect aim. 

Mulligan patted Laurens on the back and ruffled his hair. 

“You shot him in the heart, huh?” Mulligan raised a brow at Laurens. “Payback’s a bitch.” 

Laurens laughed. 

“Now he knows what it feels like.” 

Mulligan and Lafayette looked to each other, then looked back to Laurens. 

“So,” Lafayette said. “Are you sure you want to return to the party? Hamilton will still be there, mon ami.” 

They reached the edge of the forest, and Laurens stopped. The mansion was in view, and only an eight-second walk away. 

“You know what?” Laurens stared at the next step in his life. And with all its struggles and hurdles he would have to overcome, a small smile formed on his lips. “After Robert, seeing Alexander again doesn’t sound that bad. It’s still gonna hurt, but I can handle it.” 

Laurens began to walk toward his future, and Mulligan and Lafayette arrived by his side. 

“And if I ever need help again, I’ll always let you guys know, alright?” Laurens reached the entrance. He rested his hand on the knob, then opened the door. “I’m gonna be okay.”


	19. A. Hamilton

Winter. Valley Forge. Lafayette and Mulligan’s tent. 

“You must tell him, Hercules.” 

“What do you expect me to do?” 

“Knock some sense into him, obviously. In fact, a punch could go a long way for what he’s doing to Laurens.” 

“I’m not gonna punch Hamilton.” 

“Why not? It might be good for him.” 

“Good, how?” 

“For one, you’ll get a hold of his attention pretty quickly. And two, this is a serious situation, non? So, Laurens is in pain, but he says he’s fine now, and Hamilton is clueless because he’s an idiot so, ultimately, what’s so bad about a little payback for Laurens?” 

“Wow.” 

“Wow, what?” 

“I’m just surprised you think that’s a good enough justification.” 

“Are you going to tell me after all that has happened, you don’t want to punch Hamilton just a little?” 

“I-” 

“Not even that hard, but just enough to make him realize what an idiot he is. I mean, come on, mon ami... Hamilton won’t listen to reason unless it punches him in the face.” 

“Now, you’ve made a good point.” 

“Thank you.” 

“You're welcome, sweetheart.” 

“Please shut up, you broken twig.” 

“That’s too far, Laf. You know I have self-image issues.” 

“...” 

“Silent treatment?” 

“No, dirt-beneath-my-feet, I’m not giving you the silent treatment; Hamilton is coming.” 

“Alright, I’ll go then. You remember where to send him?” 

“Of course, I do. I’m not you, Hercules. Now, get out of here before he sees you.” 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

Lafayette peeked out of the tent’s opening to see snow falling, and Alexander walking to his shared tent with Laurens (The arrangements were chosen by George Washington). 

Lafayette pulled his coat tight around his body, then left his source of lasting warmth to enter hell. Which was, ironically, not hot. Lafayette threw his arms in the air to wave Alexander down. Alexander had a stoic expression on his face until Lafayette came into his sights. A toothy grin formed. 

“Laf! How are you?” Alexander directed his steps toward Lafayette, and as soon as he could, he enveloped Lafayette in a hug. 

Lafayette draped his arms around Alexander’s shoulders and squeezed. He loved affection shared between him and Alexander, but business was business. “I’m wonderful, Xander. How are you?” 

Alexander raised a brow. “Xander? Well, as long as you’re the only one who calls me that, I’m okay with it. And I’m good. My limbs are about to freeze and then snap off my body, but other than that, I’m good.” 

Lafayette giggled, and Alexander continued the futile conversation. Although, it’s not like he thought it was futile or anything, but Lafayette needed this to move on. Alexander went on and on about the cold, and when would the next battle start, and where’s Laurens, and when are you and Herc leaving, and so many boring things Lafayette’s head almost exploded. 

Lafayette shoved a hand in front of Alexander’s face, causing the human form of an essay to go taciturn. “Ah, that’s better.” 

Alexander rolled his eyes. “If you wanted me to stop talking, you could have said something earlier.” 

Lafayette took a step back. “Xander, if a boulder was rolling down a hill at a million kilometers per hour, would you tell me to just stand in front of it?” 

Alexander scowled. “Yes, Marie, I would. I’m sure your New York City-sized ego would actually be too much for the boulder to handle, and it would stop before it came in contact with you, and then crumble into itself because of simply being in your presence.” 

Lafayette smiled and used his hand to whip his hair back. “You’re right, mon ami. I am too much for anyone to handle.” He put a hand on Alexander’s shoulder and furrowed his brows. “Actually, are you sure you’re okay? I haven’t put you at risk of crumbling into yourself, have I?” 

Alexander grimaced, but couldn’t help the smile that crept onto his face. 

“Actually, yes. I think I need some time alone to recharge because the energy coming off of you right now is making me nauseous.” Alexander stared into Lafayette’s eyes and smirked. He took a step forward. “But in a really, really good way.” 

Lafayette’s eyes went wide like a balloon about to pop, and he burst into fits of laughter. He had to hold his stomach, as if, like his eyes, they would rupture. Alexander joined him, and when he slapped a hand on Lafayette’s shoulder to hold himself steady, Lafayette remembered his mission. 

“Fucking hell!” Lafayette yelled. 

Alexander whipped his body into an upright position with a face that said, “I don’t think hell wants to be fucked.” 

Lafayette refused the option of an explanation and pushed Alexander away from him. “Xander, you oblivious feces.” 

Alexander's facial expression said it all, but I don’t think I need to describe it this time. 

“Why am I oblivious feces?” 

Lafayette huffed. “Oblivious because you had to ask at all, and feces because you keep shitting on my plans!” 

Alexander tilted his head, and along with a shrug, he smiled. “Technically, I wouldn’t be feces, then. I’d be something more along the lines of an assho-” 

Lafayette hurtled a snowball at Alexander’s face. 

Alexander, wiping the white cannonball from his eyes, said, “Normally, I would fire back, but I think you just said something about me shitting on your plans, and I feel like taking the high road today. So, tell me... what are your plans?” 

Lafayette could have shot Alexander. But then he remembered his conversation with Mulligan, and he no longer felt sad he would not be allowed to inflict pain on Alexander. “When I said plans, I didn’t mean an actual plan. But I did plan on telling you, before you distracted me, that Hercules wanted to talk to you about something. He’s near the edge of the woods, with that one cabin with the horses we still have left.” 

Alexander nodded and threw an arm around Lafayette’s shoulder. “Well, since I won’t see you for a bit,” he placed a hand on Lafayette’s cheek, opposite to him, pulled his face close, and placed a kiss on Lafayette’s cheekbone. 

Lafayette laughed, then returned the favor. “You know, I think you’re the only one of my friends to initiate that. I always have to be the one to do it, and sometimes it can be very exhausting to kiss them first all the time.” 

“You’re welcome.” Alexander glanced at the ground, then drew his focus back to Lafayette. Lafayette could see just a touch of pink on his cheeks, but the cold was wicked and he’d never be able to know what caused the flush. Lafayette pulled away from Alexander and watched as he spun around and headed for the edge of the forest. Where he would find the cabin, the small number of horses left, and Hercules Mulligan with a closed fist and motivation. 

Alexander drifted past beige tents huddled close to one another, small fires scattered with men as near as they could be to the flames, and soldiers sitting with paper and pen in hand, doing their best to word goodbye letters if the need came. The scene closed around your throat and tightened. The letters might not even make it to the intended recipient. And who knows if each body would be accounted for? 

Most of the men were laughing and talking. They knew the best they could do was continue as if life was normal. As if their life wasn’t on the line every day, and every moment they sat in the snow with little food and drink, and little hope, they still had a fighting chance. They shivered with hands orange like the sun. The fire knew of its failure to achieve success, but it too starved. 

The sun had begun its departure, and everyone dreaded saying goodbye. Some hated this farewell more than the farewell to their loved ones. Some longed for the sun’s heat, and some long for the heat of battle. They didn’t want a moment of rest because a moment left sitting meant a moment not moving. Those soldiers couldn’t sit still. An itch developed in their minds, and the only way to scratch it was with a bullet flying by their head, and a bayonet inches away from their heart. 

Alexander honed in on each soldier as he passed them. Hoping he could soak in their story with a single glance. He couldn’t, of course. So, he kept moving. He, like the other soldiers with a sickness only cured by a war cry, continued moving to stay alive. 

He waded through the snow until he reached the forest’s edge. In front of him lied a cabin, and to the left of the cabin were the horses. And behind them, stood Mulligan. His back turned away from Alexander as he pet a stallion’s back. Alexander took another step forward, crunching snow under his feet, yet causing no reaction from Mulligan. 

Mulligan heard his footsteps but chose to remain as if he was unaware. He slid his hands down the horse’s back, giving himself ease as well as the horse. 

Alexander continued his approach. Mulligan kept his hands open as he let them fall to his sides. Alexander was only an arm’s length behind him now. Mulligan took that measurement into consideration. 

Crunch, crunch, crunch. 

Mulligan turned to the left, and Alexander’s face came into view. Mulligan paused. He clenched his right fist, and prepared, but did not follow through. Alexander’s eyes were soft, and his smile was warm. He didn’t want to punch Alexander. 

But who else has soft eyes and a warm smile? 

Laurens. 

And whose well-being does it benefit if Alexander is violently shown the truth? 

Laurens’. 

Clenched fist met soft eye. Although, not only in appearance but in feeling under pressure. 

Mulligan drew his arm back as Alexander stumbled back a few steps, almost falling onto the snow-covered ground. 

“What in the hell was that for?” Alexander found a solid stance, holding a hand to his eye, then pulling it away revealing a droplet of crimson. His browbone retained most of the force of Mulligan’s fist, and for that, it was gifted a small cut. 

Alexander glanced at the blood, then looked back up at Mulligan. Mulligan expected Alexander to come barreling at him, but he assumed he only hesitated because of their friendship. 

He crossed his arms and took a deep breath. “I punched you because you’re an idiot.” 

Alexander scoffed, a heat building in his stomach he normally would have been thankful for, but less so in this circumstance. “I’m an idiot? How am I an idiot? What have I done to make you think I’m an idiot?” 

Mulligan narrowed his eyes. “It’s what you haven’t done.” 

Alexander put a hand to his forehead and searched the ivory floor for answers. “Okay, what have I not done?” 

“Laurens.” 

Alexander yanked his head from a horizontal position to stare into Mulligan’s emotionless eyes. “Laurens? What do you mean I haven’t done Laurens?” 

Mulligan sighed. 'This is gonna be harder than I thought.' 

“Here,” Mulligan said, gesturing to a fallen oak tree, sitting on it, then patting the bark as he maintained eye contact with Alexander. Alexander furrowed his brows, glancing at Mulligan’s hand which previously clocked him, but decided to sit down anyway. 

“I-” 

“Don’t speak,” Mulligan said, raising a hand to pause Alexander’s ranting. “There’s a lot I have to say, but I need you to just listen to me. Don’t interrupt or else it’ll take even longer than I planned, which is already too long.” 

Alexander kept his gaze on his folded hands. It wasn’t often Mulligan asked this of him. In fact, he had never done anything like this before. And when Alexander listened to his request, Mulligan almost smiled. 

“Look, Hamilton. I know about the conversation you had with Lafayette in New York a few years back. I know everything that was said, and I know how nervous you got when Lafayette joked about you “breaking a few laws with Laurens,” and Lafayette and I saw you two spooning each other the night before that.” 

Mulligan didn’t take the time to look at Alexander’s reaction. He had to stay on track. 

“We’ve seen, over these years, you and Laurens get closer and closer to each other. Not just as friends, but as more than that. Hamilton,” he paused for a moment. “Lafayette and I know you love Laurens. And yeah, we know you love Eliza, but it’s not the same. I see you look at Eliza, and I see love. I see you look at Laurens, and if there was an emotion that went past love, that would be what I see. What you feel for Laurens is beyond any feeling I’ve seen you express for another person. And it’s the same for Laurens.” 

Mulligan had to glance at Alexander’s facial expression now, and it was priceless. Priceless because he was frozen. His eyes were glued to the ground. And, like the rest of his body, they did not move. His eyebrows held tight as if pulled together by an invisible string. He seemed tense, and Mulligan was prepared to make it worse. 

“You don’t see it. Laf and I know you don’t see it, and Laurens knows you don’t see it,” Mulligan sighed. “Laurens loves you, Hamilton. He loves you. He doesn’t stick by your side more than Laf and me because he sees you in the same way as us. He doesn’t stay awake at night with you because you keep him up. Goddamnit, it’s so obvious! Laurens isn’t even a night owl. He stays awake, and we find him with bags under his eyes because he stays awake for you. He wants to talk to you, he wants to hear your every word, and hope he gets the chance to hear something extra nice, or be with you because he loves you. When he comes to us, exhausted every morning, he’s not even mad about it. If it weren’t for the bags under his eyes, I’d think he was the most content person alive. I’d think he had just been told he was immortal or some shit because I’ve never seen look so happy.” 

Mulligan had to take a breath. He thought Alexander might take the pause for his own, but he kept his mouth shut. 

“I don’t know why you don’t see it, but I guess you don’t know Laurens as well as Laf and I do because if you did, you’d know. And look, I know this is a bad time to be telling you this because you’re with Eliza now, but even I can see you’re not satisfied with her. You love her, I know you do, but you’re missing out on so much that you don’t even realize. And I know you love Laurens just as much as he loves you. I know it because I see it in your eyes every time Laurens enters a room, or he speaks, or even when his name is mentioned.” 

Mulligan felt the air change. Alexander wasn’t as rigid as before. His shoulders slumped, and so did the rest of his body. He stopped resisting. No longer was his face congested and sharp like a knife’s edge. His features unraveled like a spool of thread. Understanding, in the best-case scenario, neared. 

“But I know you, Hamilton. Not completely, but I know you enough. You’re at war with yourself. You haven’t realized you love Laurens because you think it’s impossible you actually feel that way. You think you must have to love Eliza, and because it would be easier to love a woman, you did. You threw yourself on Eliza, and she caught you, and not only are you hurting her by thinking this is where you should be, but you’re also hurting yourself, and you’re hurting Laurens. So, yeah, I punched you because you’re an idiot. Because you can’t let a stupid law that shouldn’t exist in the first place, stop you from being with the one person you could be happy with forever.” 

Alexander opened his mouth to speak, but Mulligan wasn’t done yet. 

“And before you say anything, it’s not too late to tell him. I know you’re with Eliza, but that can’t stop you either. You’re going to have to tell her your true feelings too. It’s gonna be hard, and honestly, I’m glad I’m not in your position, but you’ll have to find a way around your marriage. Knowing Eliza, it might not be as hard as you think. But it’s not too late, understand? It’s never too late. So, just tell him.” 

“Oui, and deal with the consequences later.” 

Mulligan and Alexander’s heads lifted to see Lafayette standing before them. A smile on his face and a redness as well. 

Mulligan flattened his brows. “Decided to join the party?” 

Lafayette crossed his arms. “You know I can’t stay away forever. Especially when the topic is petit Laurens and a confession of feelings. I mean, listen to yourself, Hercules.” 

Alexander’s mouth hinted at a smile, but it wilted before it could grow any larger. He took a breath, and Lafayette and Mulligan waited for a tsunami of words to rupture their eardrums. He exhaled, and they leaned forward. 

“I’m not going to confess my feelings to Laurens.” 

Lafayette scoffed and Mulligan remained silent. Lafayette readied an argument in Laurens’ defense, but Mulligan glared at him, so Lafayette closed his mouth. He pursed his lips and sat on the other side of Alexander, doing his best to be patient. 

Mulligan drew his gaze back to his feet. “And why not?” 

Alexander swallowed, and rested his forehead on his hand. “Because I’m married to Eliza, and I’m not going to break her heart just so I can go off and try to be with Laurens when there’s no way a relationship between us could work. I’m saying no.” 

Mulligan clenched his jaw. “You’re saying no to letting yourself be happy?” 

Alexander’s face scrunched and his face left his hand, which formed into a tight fist. “I am happy, Mulligan. I’m not going to jeopardize what I already have for something that wouldn’t last and would have to be hidden from the public.” 

Mulligan rose to his feet and faced Alexander. He stared down into Alexander’s eyes, hopefully burning holes through them. “So, you admit it.” 

“Admit what?” Alexander stood, his face a foot away from Hercules. 

“You admit you love Laurens.” 

Alexander did not back down nor did he lie. “Yes, I do.” 

Mulligan quickened the pace of his words, which quickened Alexander’s response time. 

“You admit you’ve been having feelings for him, and thinking about him, and wanting him.” 

“Yes.” 

“You admit you understand Laurens’ feelings for you. That he loves you, and that his one wish, above all others, is to be with you.” 

“Yes.” 

“And you admit that when you’re with Eliza, the only person you’re really thinking about is Laurens.” 

“Yes.” 

Alexander’s eyes were burning coals. His breathing was hefty and loud, but his heartbeat was steady. Mulligan analyzed the emotions pooled in Alexander’s eyes and discovered honesty. They stood, sharing each other’s breaths, filling the chilled air with a fog surrounding their heads. Mulligan refused to say the next word because he knew that was the wrong move. If he said anything, he’d be putting his king in a vulnerable position. Vulnerable enough to face a checkmate. He had to win. And he didn’t care how long it would take, so he waited. And he watched as Alexander’s breathing slowed, his fists unclenched, his eyes sheathed themselves, and his stature melted into liquid. 

Alexander sat down. 

“I won’t do it, Hercules.” He held his face in his hands. “I can’t do it to Eliza.” 

Mulligan glanced at Lafayette and sent a message telepathically. Lafayette wrapped an arm around Alexander and took his chance to speak. 

“Hamilton, I know it’s hard to think about going against your marriage vows with Eliza, but you wouldn’t be doing this to her out of malice. It’ll hurt at first, but it’s for the best.” 

“Well, how?” Alexander lifted his head, his eyes pleading. “How is it for the best? How could she ever forgive me?” 

Lafayette sighed, and tightened his grip around Alexander’s shoulders. “Because you love someone else, mon ami. How would you feel if Eliza was always thinking of someone else when she was with you? If she had this beautiful woman on her mind when you kissed her, and hugged her, and slept in the same bed as her?” 

Alexander didn’t speak, so Lafayette pressed further. 

“Wouldn’t you want her to be as happy as she could be? Wouldn’t you want her to find that one person she loved the most in the world, even at the cost of your marriage with her, so she could spend the rest of her life with them? Because, Hamilton, this is Eliza we’re talking about. The most kind-hearted, forgiving, selfless woman to ever exist. She’ll be confused, and angry, and hurt at the beginning, but because of the love she has for you, she’ll understand. I promise you, she will.” 

Alexander turned to Lafayette. Lafayette wasn’t sure if it was the cold or the conversation that made Alexander’s eyes glossy, like a film of water clung to them, but he didn’t need to know more. Alexander’s response would be enough. 

“How are you so sure?” 

“Because I know Eliza, and I know you.” Lafayette sniffled. “Because you want the best for her, don’t you? That’s what you’re doing right now, is worrying about her happiness.” 

Alexander nodded. “Yeah, I am.” 

“Then, why would you think she would want anything different for you?” 

Alexander pulled his brows together, and let out a small breath. A stream of translucent white left his lips and dissipated by the time Alexander’s next words vocalized. 

“You’re right, Laf. She wouldn’t. She would want me to be happy, to be content, even if that meant she couldn’t be the one to make that happen. She’s too good for me, you know?” 

Lafayette and Mulligan chuckled. 

“Yeah, she is,” Lafayette said. “But don’t worry, Laurens is only better than you. He’s nowhere near Eliza’s level.” 

This time, all three of them laughed. 

“Well,” Alexander said, a tender smile on his face. “That does make me feel better.” 

The sky dimmed. The sun opened its jaws and yawned, then went to bed. It left the sky with its younger sister, the moon. 

Mulligan, Lafayette, and Alexander sat in each other’s company for an hour, running over different ways to break the news to Eliza, when another, just as important, question introduced itself in Alexander’s mind. 

“What about Laurens?” 

Mulligan and Lafayette turned to Alexander and cocked their heads. 

“What about Laurens?” 

Alexander huffed. “Well, how am I supposed to tell Laurens how I feel? We have a vague idea of how I’m going to tell Eliza, and that has to happen first, but what am I supposed to do about Laurens?” 

Lafayette rolled his eyes. “Oh, it is so obvious, mon ami.” 

Mulligan and Alexander stayed silent. 

Mulligan groaned. “So, you’re not going to finish that sentence?” 

Lafayette kissed his teeth. “Just kiss him, Hamilton!” 

Alexander laughed and searched the environment for support. “Uh, I don’t think that would work as well as you think it would.” 

Mulligan cleared his throat. “Actually, Lafayette makes a solid point.” 

“What?” Alexander’s eyes went wide. 

“Don’t interrupt me, Hamilton. And yes, he’s right. Laurens is simple, so just kiss him, and then worry about explaining things to him.” Mulligan shrugged his shoulders. “It’s not hard.” 

Alexander scrunched his face. “Not hard? How would you know how hard it is? Have you ever been in love with Laurens?” 

Mulligan’s expression said, “That’s a very stupid question,” but his mouth said nothing. 

Alexander threw his head back and stared at the sky, painted a deep blue with white freckles. “I’m still right, though. You don’t know what this is like, so really, I’m doing this alone, with no solid advice, improvised.” 

Lafayette and Mulligan glanced at each other, then focused back on Hamilton. 

“Yes,” They said. 

Lafayette piped up. “Although, I do still think kissing first, answering questions later is a good plan.” 

Mulligan nodded. “Yeah, me too.” 

“So-” Alexander began but did not reach his end because Lafayette leaped from the fallen oak tree/his seat and yelped. 

Mulligan and Alexander stared at him with glazed expressions. 

“What time is it?” Lafayette whipped around to face Mulligan and Alexander, who gave him no answer. “Mon Dieu, you two are helpless! Mulligan, we have to leave now. You have to get your carriage to go back to New York, and I have to get my carriage, so I can get to my ship, so I can get back to France, so we must leave now. Get off your asses!” 

Alexander and Mulligan reached a vertical position slowly, and when they walked back to the camp, they walked. Lafayette, however, sprinted ahead of them. Eventually, though, they did reach their tents, and Alexander stayed in their tent with them as they packed their belongings, and left with them as they arrived at the edge of camp where two carriages waited for them. 

Alexander watched them load their bags onto the carriage, and turn back to Alexander with a small smile that erupted into an ear-to-ear grin. Alexander didn’t know why, but once he did, butterflies swarmed inside his stomach. 

“Laurens!” Lafayette screeched, running over to Alexander and past him. Alexander turned around and saw Laurens, laughing, and holding Lafayette in his arms. 

“Aw, well, I had to say goodbye to you guys,” Laurens said, eyes darting to Alexander for a second, then landing on Mulligan, already by his side. “Herc, I know you won’t be back for a while, but what about you, Laf? You gonna come back soon, right?” 

Lafayette sighed. “Oui, I will return soon. I just have to ask for French aid in this dizzying battle, but I won’t be gone for long. I know it will be hard without me, but promise me you won’t get too annoyed with Hamilton, and kill him, okay?” 

Laurens made eye contact with Alexander and held it this time. He winked, and Alexander dropped his gaze, which Laurens didn’t understand, but also didn’t become completely displaced by. 

Lafayette left Laurens’ arms, and Mulligan hugged him, whispered something in his ear, then left as well. They walked over to Alexander, and Lafayette hugged him and said goodbye. But when Mulligan hugged him, he lowered his tone so only Alexander could hear. 

“Don’t forget what we talked about.” Mulligan pulled away, smiled at Alexander, then walked over to Lafayette. 

Lafayette and Mulligan shared a short goodbye, as short as a hug, and even though Laurens and Alexander shared that same farewell, to Lafayette and Mulligan it seemed like too little. Despite this, they got on their carriages and closed the doors. 

Laurens took a few steps forward, getting close enough to Alexander their shoulders brushed, and joined Alexander to watch the carriages drive further and further away until they disappeared behind a long line of Pine trees. 

Laurens turned to Alexander. His face was red, and his lips curled into a smile. 

“So, what do we do, now?” 

Alexander laughed and kept his eyes on Laurens’ lips. Pink and perfect. As usual. He didn’t tear his gaze away, even while he said, “We could start by getting warm.” 

Laurens’ teeth outshone the glimmering blanket of snow below them. “I like the way you think, Alexander.” 

“Do you?” 

“Mmhmm.” 

Laurens put an arm around Alexander’s shoulders, and Alexander reciprocated the gesture. Laurens turned them around and led them in the direction of a cozy fire inside the camp. Although, as they snuggled closer in each other’s arms, they discovered they didn’t need the warmth of fire anymore.


	20. J. Laurens

Imagine living a life of peace and security. Imagine having a family, a home, a culture, a language, and independence. Imagine happiness. Then, imagine it has all been taken away from you. You might be playing with your siblings or your friends, cooking food with your mother, or learning to hunt with your father, and then you hear something. You hear loud voices, screams, and cries. You sit outside with your family, the people you hold most dear, and all of you turn to the noise.

Next, is what you see. Across a cropped field, a grassland, a farm, or a body of water, you see men. Men deprived of the depth and warmth of color you hold in your own skin. White men, barreling toward you, red-faced with weapons in hand. Some hold guns, swords, axes or whatever else they could find to cause harm. 

You freeze. You try to move your hand to grab your friend’s, but when your eyes move you see your friend has run away. Run to their family and their home. So, you try to reach for your sibling, who, like you, are stuck in place. Only, you can’t move your hand. You can’t move your feet to be by their side, and you feel as if you can’t move your lungs, even though you know you are breathing. 

You’re in your father’s arms now. You can feel his heartbeat against your shoulder, pounding like a drum. But, this time, the music is not pleasant. No longer do you see pink faces, scowling and snarling at you; you see your mother. And your sibling in her arms. Your mother was sprinting, just like your father. Running away. Something you never expected to see your parents do. Always brave, always strong, and always fighting back. 

Why not now? Why didn’t they fight back now? 

Next, you see red.   
Water is not red. This was not sweat, spit, or even rain.   
Your eyes were on your mother, and now you see red. 

When you look to the ground, you see your mother again. Red on her chest. Red in her eyes. Red in her mouth. A bullet. A cut. A gash. Her eyes are open, but they don’t move. 

“Mama,” you say. 

“Mama,” you cry. 

“Mama,” you scream. 

Your mouth is covered. Your father sets you down and turns. Your father fights back. His arms, like the forelegs of a lion, beat into a white man. The white man falls. He is dead. Your father turns to you, he looks down. His eyes are on your mother, and him, like you, do not see your sibling. They have vanished into the blue sky.   
Your father’s eyes go wide, and he runs to you, palms open. You feel an arm come around your stomach from behind. You are being dragged away from your father, and your father is not moving. 

Why doesn’t he fight for you? Why does he kill for your mother, and stand still for you? 

Again, there is red. It trickles down his forehead, where a small hole appeared. He bends at the knees, and his face is buried in the mud. He lies next to your mother. And you are in the arms of a stranger. 

You are not frozen. You grab whoever’s arm which holds you and rake your nails into it. You whip your arms around, and kick against their legs, and wriggle away. They drop you, and you look into their eyes. They smile. This smile brings back a memory. The night a cobra crawled into your home and slid its body across yours. You were sleeping, but the scales against your skin woke you up. The first thing your eyes settled on was the black eyes of the snake. Its tongue flicked out, and it made a sharp hiss. That night, your father saved you. Today, you are alone. And this snake wrapped its hands around your neck and drags you across the ground. Your legs and feet cut on rocks and scrape against the dirt. You look up at the devil and watch his hand drop to the ground, pick up a rock, and hammer it down on your temple. 

The world is black. The world is cold. The world is merciless. 

From that moment on, the world shoved the idea – you no longer belong to yourself – down your throat. They beat you, killed your brothers and sisters, and tried to scrape every last bit of humanity out from your soul, so they could tell the truth when they called you an animal. 

But they made a mistake. 

Because you are not an animal, and because you can never be one, you were not broken. You took their words and loaded your mind and your body with the ammunition a never-ending Gatling gun possesses. 

Your parents taught you well. Your people taught you well. You taught yourself well because the truth is you can never be broken. Not as long as you remember who you are, and you remember that the only voice you need to listen to is your own. 

You can save yourself. But not only is it possible, it is a necessity. You must save yourself because no matter how much or how little help you get along the way, it always comes back to you. Live or die. It’s your choice. 

“Badass, right?” 

Alexander sighed. He turned away from the upright, grinning Laurens to the quaint fire they lit inside their tent. Technically, they were not supposed to light a fire any bigger than a candle’s flame inside their tent, but they weren’t exactly the type to follow the rules.   
The tent gave enough space to pace back and forth in long strides, which is exactly what Laurens was doing. At midnight. With his hair bound, and no shirt on. Despite the single-digit temperature, he insisted he was fine. Although, Alexander did not believe him. 

Alexander pulled his head back to Laurens’ direction, who held several sheets of paper in his hands and had just read those written thoughts aloud. “Laurens, I like it. You narrate one idea of what a child has gone through when they were thrown into the slave trade, and you did it perfectly. You consistently used the word “you,” making it impossible for whoever reads or hears it to picture anyone else but themselves in the same position. I don’t just like what you wrote; I love it.” 

Laurens raised a brow and glared at Alexander. He dropped his papers on his cot and walked over to Alexander. “Keep going.” 

Alexander let a quick breath out. “Most of it is good. I believe that, but near the end after the child’s head is hit with the rock, and they blackout, you reach a space that is too emotional.” 

Laurens crossed his arms, and his stare did not ease up or back down. Alexander glanced at Laurens’ eyes, and held them, hoping the softer, less heated emotions he felt would calm Laurens down. 

They did not. 

Laurens cracked a smile, and let a low, short laugh drip from his lips. The musical tones leading your imagination down a path of sunshine until a storm cloud buries it. Laurens made the sky turn black. And for a split second, as Alexander criticized his work, he forgot Alexander was on his side. 

Well, I may have underplayed the “split-second” part. 

“Too emotional?” Laurens cocked his head to the right, a detached expression on his face. “Alexander, when have you ever gotten one of your plans to work without being emotional?”   
Alexander opened his mouth, but Laurens shut it. 

His voice stayed level while he spoke. Like the depths of the ocean, black, unknown, dangerous, with an unseeable threat around every corner. Or nothing. 

“Why is it that when it comes to slavery, suddenly emotion is not allowed? When torture, rape, and genocide are on the line, why is it only acceptable to speak out when it’s happening to white people?” 

Alexander tried to produce his own light in the abyss. 

“Look, Laurens, you know that’s not what I’m saying-” 

Laurens took another step closer. “Yeah, you’re right. That’s not what you’re saying. You’re saying I can’t show emotion or bias in my essay because the people I need to convince will shut me down the second they see that I’m saying slavery is bad because it hurts people. Because it’s inhumane, and it’s not a good or- or righteous thing to do to someone.” 

Alexander kept his gaze chained to Laurens. 

Laurens took quick breaths in and out, hoping he could fit all his frustration in one conversation without taking away too much oxygen from his brain. “But that’s the problem. They only want to listen to me if I say I’m choosing this side because it’s in their best interest. Well, it’s not in their fucking best interest, is it? And I don’t fucking want it to be. These pieces of shit should have never been given power. They don’t deserve power because they don’t care about how they use it. If it makes them feel good, and it makes their lives better, well fuck yeah. They love it. But if it hurts anyone else in the process? Then, who cares.” 

He clenched his jaw and pivoted his body toward the fire. He studied the flickers of orange and yellow, and their quivering hands reflecting in his eyes. 

“Good, honest people are nothing to them. They’re not even people, they’re just objects. Things that can be thrown around, bought and sold, killed, hunted, and defiled.” The victim of Laurens’ icy glare was the flame. “People who hurt others just so they can feel better about themselves make me sick. They do whatever they want because they have money, power, and white skin. Their hearts are rot and poison. And they find comfort in their evil ways, so any chance they have to damage an innocent, they take. And they enjoy it.” 

Laurens twisted his neck to find Alexander’s face in the dim light. His gaze had softened just enough for Alexander to lose the tension in his shoulders, and breathe with ease. Alexander rose from his cot, leaving his many papers and his ink and quill to stand by Laurens’ side. He had to tilt his head up slightly to look Laurens in the eyes, and when they found each other, Alexander did not move. 

“They don’t deserve a quiet voice, Alexander.” 

“No, they don’t.” A hair fell in front of Laurens’ eyes, and Alexander reached his hand up and brushed it behind his ear. “But you’ve been loud every time before this, and it hasn’t worked.   
Laurens, the world shouldn’t be this way, but it is. Those men shouldn’t be the ones you have to convince, but they are. Lives can’t be saved, just because that’s how the world should be. You can only win by playing by their rules and then beating the shit out of them at their own game. It’s hard and unfair of me to have to ask you to take your feelings out of this paper, but if you don’t, you won’t change anything. They’ll see you coming, and they’ll expect volume and passion and the biggest heart of anyone in the world, and they’ll immediately stop listening. They won’t back your cause until you trick them into thinking it’s theirs too.” 

A soft laugh fell from Lauren’s lips. Alexander smiled, sinking into the harmonious notes that wrapped around him like a blanket. Resisting the urge to wrap himself around Laurens like a blanket, Alexander continued his speech. 

“You were right when you said their hearts are rot and poison. They have no humanity left in them, so you have to become the only cross they’ll ever pray to. You have to be the light disguised as destruction. You have to make them think you’ve fallen into hell along with them, and then when they take your hand, you can leave them in the pit to suffer and you can rise back to heaven. And then, maybe you can visit me on Earth someday.” 

Their laughter heightened this time and opened the air to a happier state. 

“Maybe I won’t have to visit you because you’ll already be up there with me,” Laurens smirked and bumped shoulders with Alexander as he walked past him and collapsed onto his cot. He pulled a thin blanket over his bare shoulders and rested his head on his hands. 

Alexander chuckled. “That’s a nice thought, but we both know that will never be me.” 

Laurens grabbed his papers from his cot and tossed them onto the ground. His attention had been captured by a new topic. “What do you mean that will never be you? Come on, Alexander, don’t beat yourself up so much.” 

Alexander drifted to his cot, which rested a few feet away from Laurens’. He sat down and propped his head on his fist as he faced Laurens. “You’re right, I can just let Hercules take care of that for me.” 

Laurens laughed. “Yeah, Herc can be a dick sometimes, but he always means well.” 

Alexander hummed in response, then silenced. Laurens continued to stare at Alexander, and Alexander continued to stare at the small, slowly dying fire. Laurens loosened the tension in his body, and he let his eyes search Alexander’s face. He basked in every twitch of his features until he noticed a shadow cast over Alexander’s face. His brows pulled together, and his eyes hardened like stone. His lips formed a taut line, and Laurens ripped his gaze from the pink encasing around Alexander’s mouth to take in the rest of his expression. Maybe he could read through the stiffness and find the hidden meaning. 

A few minutes had passed without a word spoken. Laurens’ investigation led him down a dead end, and he no longer had a clue of the best next move. What could he do to cheer up the distraught, albeit commonly stressed Alexander? He scanned the room for a key to unlock this mystery. 

Laurens could admit he wasn’t much good when it came to brightening someone’s day. He always tried, but he didn’t think he was successful. But even if his success rate wasn’t stellar, it was enough to try. So, he continued to run through possible solutions in his head. The conclusion he landed on wasn’t revolutionary or complex, but it was better to do it and deal with any consequences later. 

He let his arm hang from his cot, and he grabbed a few pieces of paper from the ground, not the ones he had written on, and crumpled them into balls. Altogether, four paper balls had been formed. He glanced at Alexander for a second and saw the same brown eyes corrupted by the dancing flames. His moment had come, so he took advantage of the time he had.   
He grabbed the smallest of the four, lifted his arm, and flicked his wrist letting the ball go at the opportune moment to produce a perfect parabola leading to the target of Alexander’s face.   
“What-” Alexander whipped his head to the left to find the culprit of the heinous crime. “Why did you do that?” 

Laurens left his expression blank. 

“Do what?” He asked, as he swiped a paper ball from its home and chucked it at Alexander. This time, pelting Alexander’s chest. 

“You just did it again.” He pursed his lips. 

Laurens fired his next round. 

Now, Alexander was standing. “Why are you throwing paper at me?” 

Laurens grinned. “Why aren’t you throwing paper at me?” 

Alexander picked up the three paper balls Laurens had thrown at him, and one by one threw them at Laurens. A smile willed its way onto Alexander’s face as Laurens dodged each shot.   
“When I said throw, I didn’t say miss,” Laurens said. 

Alexander scowled, and rushed to Laurens’ side to snatch the paper before Laurens could. He didn’t want to miss again after three failed attempts. Then again, he didn’t want to miss in the first place. 

Laurens already had two in his hand when Alexander swiped the other two before he could, and went even further to try and steal the two from Laurens’ hands. Laurens pulled his hands away from Alexander’s crafty ones and whipped the paper balls at Alexander’s face. Alexander caught one, but the other hit its mark perfectly. 

Alexander gathered what fell, and backed away from Laurens with all four in his clutches. Laurens body seemed to widen, as he opened his arms and bent at the waist. His hands were in front of him as he motioned for Alexander to make his move. 

Laurens smirked. “Go ahead, Hamilton. Make me pay for what I’ve done.” 

Alexander needed no further convincing as he chucked the first at Laurens’ leg. 

Laurens caught it.   
Then, Laurens’ stomach.   
Laurens caught it.   
Then, at the same time, Laurens’ head and his shoulder. 

Laurens dipped to escape the wrath of both, but he tripped and ended up getting hit by both. Alexander rejoiced. He glided over to Laurens and patted him on the shoulder. “Don’t worry about it, Laurens. It’s not that embarrassing.” 

Laurens kissed his teeth, then approached Alexander with his hands clasped behind his back. “You’re right, it's not that embarrassing. I mean, for me, it would be really embarrassing if somebody took my backpack and hit me across the face with it.” 

“What?” 

Laurens grabbed Alexander’s “pillow” and secured its place in his hands as he grasped the corners. He started from below his waist and whipped it upward, smacking Alexander in the jaw causing Alexander’s head to slam backward along with the rest of his body, which went sailing to the floor. 

Alexander lied on his backside and rubbed his jaw. He looked up at Laurens and he smiled. “Nice try, Laurens, but that isn’t enough to embarrass me.” 

Laurens tilted his head down at Alexander. “It’s not? So, you want me to try harder, then?” 

Alexander’s eyebrows raised. “Well, I wasn’t saying that.” 

“Nah, I get it. Don’t worry, if you want me to try harder, I’ll try harder.” 

“You don’t have to-” 

“I’ve always got your back, Alexander. No worries.” Laurens stalked to where Alexander still laid on the ground. Alexander sat up quickly, pushing on his hands to find his feet, so he could run away with what little time he had left. But Laurens got to him first. Alexander was lifted into the air, and thrown onto Laurens’ shoulder. Laurens had his elbows bent and his hands placed on Alexander’s hips. He turned around and all Alexander could see was the back of Laurens. 

“Put me down.” 

“Not yet.” 

“Laurens put me down now.” Alexander struggled against Laurens, but Laurens kept the wriggler in place. He took three heavy steps forward, and they reached the end of the tent with Alexander’s cot directly in front of him. 

“Are you sure you want me to put you down?” He asked. 

“If that’s what I’ve been wanting all this time before, I probably still want it now.” 

Laurens tightened his grip on Alexander and grinned. “Whatever you say, your majesty.” His hands lifted Alexander once more, and Alexander’s eyes widened again because he didn’t feel the same amount of pressure one would if they were being let down... nicely. Laurens held Alexander above his head, making eye contact with Alexander in his last seconds, and giving him a wink. Then, like the paper balls, Laurens threw him. He used what Alexander guessed was all his strength to chuck him at Alexander’s cot. 

Alexander once again flew, then crashed into his own cot. Other than the piercing yelp that left Alexander’s throat, the next sound was much louder. Like a tree snapped off its trunk, the cot broke. Alexander was on the cot, then on the floor, on the remains of his makeshift bed. Alexander drew his eyes back to Laurens whose mouth fell open like a fish. 

Alexander glimpsed back at his bed, then Laurens, then his bed, then Laurens. They held their places, unmoving and silent. Then, they burst into laughter. Alexander was cradling his stomach, as his joyful cries filled the air in balance with Laurens’. 

As Alexander and Laurens’ laughter died down, Alexander said, “Let’s not talk about what just happened.” 

Laurens offered him a much softer, less maniacal smile. He placed a hand next to his lips and mimicked the motion of zipping them shut. Alexander laughed once more, and Laurens found a place to sit by Alexander, despite the discomfort his ass knew was to come. 

Laurens stretched his legs out in front of him and leaned back on his hands. “Alexander?” 

“Laurens?” Alexander replied. 

“I want to ask you something.” 

“I’m ready for whatever it is.” 

“Okay.” Laurens brushed a stray curl behind his ear. “Well, what do you want out of life? I mean, you’ve got a good position under Washington, and the only way I can see you going is up. You’ve got friends, and you’ve got Eliza. You’ve got a good life. So, what do you want now that you’ve already achieved so much?” 

Alexander mirrored Laurens’ laid-back position. “What do I want?” 

'Me?' Laurens thought. 'No, stop. You know he’d never say that.' 

“You’re right. I have come far. Farther than I ever thought I could, but there’s a lot I have to do still. I want to change this world, Laurens. Change it for the better. I want what Lafayette wants for France, and what Hercules wants for his friends, us, I mean. I want what you want too. I want to fight against slavery, and help your dream come true. But I also want what’s best for this country.”

Laurens hummed in response. 'Ah, so he wants what’s best for me, then. That should be enough.' 

“I want the redcoats and all the British to get the fuck out of our land, and I never want them to return. I want them to know what it means to not be free to do whatever they want. They’ll regret ever thinking they could beat us, Laurens. You know that, and I know that. We’ll win no matter what the cost. And I’ll be there for when that happens. Or be the one that makes it happen, either one would be good for me.” Alexander dropped his head and laughed. “What about you? Other than what was written in your paper, and probably all of your thoughts, what do you want out of life?” 

“I want...” Laurens turned his head to the left and gazed at Alexander. He took a breath, and then let it out. “I, um- I don’t know what I want. Other than what I’ve already said, I guess there’s not much else I think about. I mean, I want the best for Herc and Laf, and you too. I’d love to be able to be there to watch all you guys succeed. And maybe be one to help it happen, you know?”   
Alexander turned to Laurens and the corners of his lips curled upward. He nodded. “You’ve already helped us so much, Laurens. Trust me, you’ll be there to see us succeed. If not, I might have to come and kill you for not being there for us.” 

Laurens raised a brow. “And what if I’m already dead?” 

“Then, I’ll raise you from the dead wherever you are. You know I wouldn’t let something as small and insignificant as death keep you from me,” Alexander cleared his throat. “From us, from Hercules, Lafayette, and I.” 

Laurens nodded. “Uh, yeah. Thanks.” 

“No problem.” Alexander glanced to the sliver of the outer world peeking through the tent’s opening. Just like before, there was no light except the thin beams emanating from the moon and stars. “It’s getting pretty late. We should get to bed now.” 

Laurens pushed off his hands and stood before Alexander. “Yeah, we should. Good idea.” Laurens drifted over to his cot, still intact, then frowned. “Hey, you sleep on my cot tonight. I’ll sleep on the ground.” 

“The ground?” Alexander shook his head, rising to a vertical position. “No, I’ll sleep on the ground. That’s your cot, so you should sleep on it.” 

“Yeah, but I broke yours. So, it doesn’t matter what you say, Alexander, I’m sleeping on the ground, and you’re taking my cot.” 

“No, Laurens.” 

“Yes, Laurens, you say, as you take my cot and let me sleep on the ground.” 

Alexander narrowed his gaze at Laurens. “Really?” 

“Really,” Laurens said, grabbing his cot and sliding it in front of Alexander. 

“No, I refuse.” 

“You refuse?” Laurens raised his brows and moved his head forward an inch. 

“Yes, I will sleep on the ground, and you will sleep on your cot.” Alexander did not move an inch. 

Laurens pursed his lips. “Okay, Hamilton. But just know, I didn’t want to do this, you made me do this.” 

Alexander almost took a step back. “What are you talking about?” 

Laurens wrestled the cot’s bars into his hands, raised it in the air, leaving Alexander blind to Laurens’ facial expression, and smashing it onto the ground. Alexander, with less motion than expected, stared at the spectacle of Laurens destroying his cot right in front of his eyes. Laurens, breathing heavily, threw his head back, so he could stare into Alexander’s eyes. 

“That,” he grumbled, “is what I’m talking about.” 

Alexander blinked, then dropped his hands at his sides. “How do you have no self-control?” 

Laurens laughed. “You’d be surprised.” 

Alexander rolled his eyes, but couldn’t force the smile away from his tightened features. “Now both of us are sleeping on the floor. Congratulations, you’re a monster.”   
Laurens smirked. “At least I’m not the man whose uselessness is his only apparent quality.” 

Alexander paused. “Have I- Where have I heard that before?” 

Laurens laughed, and dropped his gaze to the ground, then drew it back to Alexander. He hoped a blush hadn’t accumulated on his cheeks, but even if it had there was barely any light to illuminate such a thing. “You’ve heard it from your own mouth on the night we first met. You said it to me when-” 

“When I was drunk and falling, and you stopped me from falling.” Alexander’s eyes had widened, then they slimmed to their normal size. “You remember what I said?” 

Laurens tapped his feet together. “How could I forget? It was the most hilarious insult anyone has ever said to me, and then apologized for afterward.” 

Alexander laughed and scratched the back of his neck. “I guess I did do a lot of embarrassing things that night, didn’t I?” 

“Ah, don’t worry about it.” Laurens rested a hand on Alexander’s shoulder. “I’m sure you’ll have the opportunity to outdo yourself. Now, let’s take care of this sleeping situation.”   
The thin sheets from their cots were easily detachable from the broken bars they rested on. Alexander and Laurens gathered all broken pieces and tossed them outside of their tent. Alexander snuffed the fire out and turned to see Laurens had set up their “beds” right next to each other. Laurens was already lying down in his, as he finally decided to put a shirt on, and a blanket over himself. 

“Oh,” Alexander whispered, as he walked over to his placement and lied down next to Laurens. He pulled his blanket over his body, and Laurens glanced at his friend. Laurens noticed their arms brushed each other when Alexander dropped his arm by his side. Laurens moved his arm to the right just a hair and felt Alexander’s arm against his. He did not move his arm, and neither did Alexander. 

There was no light in their tent, and Laurens could hear Alexander’s breath get shallower, but he knew he wasn’t asleep yet. He didn’t want to take him away from the sleep he barely got in the first place, but a thought had come to him and he needed an answer. 

“Alexander?” He whispered. 

Alexander yawned. “What is it?” 

“I know you might not want to answer this question, but I just remembered it.” 

Alexander opened his eyes and turned to face Laurens. He propped his elbow on the ground and rested his head on his hand. Laurens reflected this movement and continued his question. “Remember a couple years ago, when we first met, and there was a storm, so I went into your room to see if you were alright?” 

“I thought you just came in because you were up too, and you wanted to have someone to talk to.” 

“Uh,” Laurens’s lips parted. “Yeah, anyway, remember when I moved the chair from your writing desk, so I could sit next to you, and I dropped some of your papers on the floor?” 

“Yeah...” Alexander’s brows knitted together. 

“Well, I saw what you had written in the first sentence, and I tried to stop thinking about it, but I couldn’t, and I wanted to know what it meant.” 

“Keep going,” Alexander said. 

“You wrote, “I imagine death so much it feels more like a memory.” What did you mean by that?” 

“You saw that?” Alexander bit his lip. “Well, I wrote that because that’s how I felt. I’ve been near death since a young age, not only with people in my life but myself as well. There were other things I wrote, and I wrote them because I never expected to be where I am now. I wanted a war so badly, and I’ve been in a few battles now, and I didn’t think I would survive them. I’m not who I used to be, and I’ll never be him again. The truth is I’ve been ready to die for a long time, Laurens. But now I’ve done so much, and accomplished so many things. Like you asked before, what else do I want out of life? Before I wanted everything, but I doubted I would ever achieve any of it. Now, it seems closer by the second, and I can’t lose what I’ve got. I’ve got too much to live for, and people I love, and I don’t want to lose them either. I used to be at peace with the idea of dying young, but I don’t think I’m ready to die anymore.” 

Laurens stayed quiet, only reading between each line in Alexander’s eyes. When he realized Alexander had finished, Laurens spoke. “I think I like it better when you’re alive too.” 

Alexander laughed. “Thank you, Laurens. That means a lot coming from you.” 

“No problem.” 

Alexander shivered. “Aren’t you cold?” 

Laurens shook his head. “No, not really. But if you want, you could come a little closer, and I could keep you warm, or at least, warmer.” 

“Oh, yeah. I guess that would work.” Alexander scooched closer to Laurens and felt Laurens’ muscular arms wrap around him and pull him into Laurens’ very warm torso. 

“Better?” Laurens asked. 

Alexander nodded. “A lot better. Thank you.” 

“No need to thank me. Just doing what anybody would do.” 

Alexander smiled, and Laurens did as well. Although, neither knew the other was smiling in each other’s presence. Laurens rested his head on Alexander’s and breathed in. He could feel every inhale and exhale of Alexander’s chest against him. Alexander had fallen asleep. Laurens closed his eyes and breathed in. Alexander smelled nice, and the faint scents of pine and... haha, wood dust, cloaked all of Laurens’ senses. He tightened his grip around Alexander and tried to fall asleep. It would have been easier if not for the rising thought in his brain corrupting the previous peace. 

'This isn’t enough,' Laurens thought. Because it didn’t matter how close he could be to Alexander, how much he was allowed to touch him, or what he could still say to him as a friend. It would never be enough. Eventually, Laurens did fall asleep. He dreamed of Alexander, still in his arms, for the rest of his life, as his. And that fueled a fire in him he wasn’t sure he could contain.


	21. A. Hamilton

A bayonet in every soldier’s hands. Crouching soldiers feeding effort into a quiet approach. Hands trembled. Some with excitement and some with fear. Other hands were like tendrils of water. Movements of liquid and calm precision. 

The air was still. The evening sun had massaged the white ground causing a soft splash with every footstep. The trees were bare. Their bodies deprived of flesh and blood left with only bone. A skeleton as immobile as the scraps of war. Scraps like dead men, or wasted lives. 

Splish, splash. Splish, splash. 

Newly-appointed General Lee turned around on his horse and looked down at his troop. They were chosen by George Washington to lead on one British camp, while others like Washington and Lafayette, who recently returned from France, fought at another. Among the faces Lee skimmed over were Alexander and Laurens. They were not happy about their new commanding officer, but nothing could be done to alternate this reality. 

Alexander’s controlled, liquid streams held his bayonet tight. He matched the gaze of Lee. Lee’s eyes flickered to someone else. 

“We don’t have to worry about having a plan,” Lee said, projecting to the huddled group of men. “The British are not ready for our attack, so as soon as we get there, charge and kill as many of them as you can. Fight on your own accord, and we will win.” 

The soldiers had quizzical expressions on their faces. They looked to each other hoping a comrade had an answer as to why their general seemed to be such an idiot. The other soldier had no answer. Between Laurens and Alexander, Laurens had asked the question, and Alexander had an answer. 

“What the hell is wrong with Lee? That plan isn’t gonna work.” Laurens furrowed his brows. 

Alexander glared at Lee. “Lee should never have been appointed General. He’s the worst choice for the job, and he makes that obvious every time he opens his mouth.” 

Laurens sighed. “If he wants us to fight on our own accord, then our best bet is to stick together and cover each other, and hope everyone else has the same idea.” 

“Good idea, but we can’t hope everyone else has the same idea, we have to let them know before we jump into this.” Alexander turned his head to scan the small crowd before him. He saw one soldier right behind him, who had the eyes of a bird locked in a cage. Alexander had one chance to mend as many wrongs as Lee already made before the battle began. He nudged Laurens with his elbow and lifted his chin to the man behind them. “Stop a few men and let them know to form groups of two or more, so they can cover each-” 

“Attack!” Lee pumped his arm in the air, with a sword in his hand. His horse reared, then sprinted in the direction of the British camp. 

Alexander turned to Laurens with a cold stare. 

“Fuck,” he spat. “There’s no time. You and I will stick together, and I guess the only thing we can do now is hope the others had the same idea. You should have bet on those words, Laurens.” 

Laurens laughed briefly but turned to the encampment. It was in plain sight despite the many naked trees surrounding it. He held his bayonet and took a step forward. Both Alexander and Laurens watched as their troop charged in front of them with their guns ready and battle cries tearing from their throats. 

“So much for subtlety.” Laurens turned to Alexander. “Cover me.” 

Alexander opened his mouth to combat this order, but Laurens already sprinted ahead. Alexander rushed to catch up and found himself right behind Laurens in a second. He placed himself at Laurens’ side and pointed his bayonet at the battlefield. Alexander couldn’t seem to hear a thing. His only working senses were his touch and sight. 

His sight definitely had no problem. Red, white, and blue. Red blood staining red coats, blue coats, and white snow. Alexander didn’t let his sight bother him. A redcoat appeared in front of him with their gun pointed at his face. Alexander was loaded and ready, but before he could point his gun for the kill, the sound of a gunshot filled his ears. 

The British soldier dropped to the ground, and Laurens struck Alexander on the shoulder. 

“Keep moving,” he said. 

Alexander nodded and turned to his right. So many British soldiers to kill, and so few American soldiers to back him up. He stood in front of a beige tent and saw a redcoat running his way. They were a hundred feet away. Alexander looked into the man’s pointed eyes and fired his gun. The bullet went through the man’s right eye. Alexander kept moving forward. Soldier after soldier, he killed. Some had come close to him, and some were much further away. He shot them all. Laurens was at his left side, doing his own damage. They stepped over dead bodies and created more.   
Alexander felt fire in his shoulder. He turned to the right and saw a scowl matched with sunken cheeks and blue eyes. The man buried the sharp end of his bayonet in Alexander’s shoulder. The barrel lined up perfectly to destroy. Alexander’s eyes widened. The man grinned, and Alexander took one second to breathe and move simultaneously. The man’s finger rested on the trigger, then squeezed. At that same moment, Alexander twisted his body back and to the left. The bayonet tore through his skin as it exited his shoulder, but not before a bullet grazed his flesh. Alexander gritted his teeth, but grabbed the knife at his hip and thrust forward. There was a foot of distance between them, and now there was none. Alexander grabbed the back of the soldier’s neck and pulled him into the tip of his blade. The metal sunk into the man’s stomach. He groaned, and Alexander ripped the knife out, then sunk it in again. And again, and again. The life turned lifeless and fell at Alexander’s feet. Alexander moved on. 

The area was full of one-on-one battles. Soldiers killed soldiers. Guilty killed guilty. Laurens fell in front of Alexander with a man on top of him. The man was strangling Laurens. Alexander lurched forward to protect Laurens, but an arm wrapped around his throat and pulled him back. Alexander kept his eyes trained on Laurens. Alexander brought his elbow forward, then jabbed in his attacker’s gut. The man loosened his grip, coughing in Alexander’s ears. Alexander turned around and grabbed the revolver at the man’s hip, cocked it, and let the tip of the barrel press into the man’s chest, and then he fired. Alexander turned around to see Laurens under the man still, fighting for breath, but failing. Alexander took a step forward then stopped as he watched Laurens’ fingers plunge into the man’s eye sockets. Strings of blood fell from the emaciated holes and onto Laurens’ cheeks and into his open mouth. Laurens threw the man off him, and flew to his feet, stumbling, then backing into Alexander. 

“Laurens,” Alexander said. 

Laurens whipped around letting his hands clutch Alexander’s shoulders to steady himself. Alexander held Laurens up, then noticed a redcoat approaching from behind Laurens. He tightened his grip around the revolver he had taken earlier. He rested his arm on Laurens’ shoulder and pointed his gun. He was about to squeeze the trigger when a horse and its rider trampled the redcoat. Alexander’s eyes snapped to the man on the horse. It was Lee. Riding away from the battlefield. 

“Retreat! Retreat!” He galloped through the trees and left the scene. His troop and his remaining soldiers slowed. They heard his rat-squeals, and since he was a rat, they did not want to listen. Some kept fighting, but half of the American soldiers followed Lee’s order. 

Alexander turned to Laurens and saw the eyes of a hungry wolf. 

“He abandoned us,” Laurens said. 

Alexander matched Laurens’ famished stare as the leader of the pack. “Lee abandoned his men, but I won’t. We have to continue to fight, Laurens. We won’t run away like cowards.” 

Laurens bared his teeth and pulled two revolvers out as his only remaining weaponry. “Let’s fight.” 

Alexander had a knife and the British soldier’s revolver left. They turned to the battle they were sorely outnumbered in and entered. They had three steps in before one of the few remaining American soldiers sprinted up to them and held his hands up. 

“We have to go,” he said. “We have to run. There’s too many. There’s no point in fighting, just turn back with me.” He grabbed Alexander and Laurens’ by the shoulders and pressed tightly. 

“We have to fight,” Alexander said. “We can’t just run like Lee.” 

A few redcoats no longer occupied began to run toward Alexander, Laurens, and their fellow soldier. They were more than several thousand feet away, but they still didn’t have much time. Alexander kept his eyes on the approaching redcoats and growled. 

“Please, it’s only me, and you guys left. All of our men ran already, you’ll die if you stay.” 

Alexander felt an arm wrap around him, and the breath of Laurens on his ear. “He’s right. As much as I can’t stand the idea of running, we have no chance. It’s three against thirty.” 

Alexander turned to Laurens. “No, we can do this. We can win.” 

Laurens removed his arm and furrowed his brows. “No, we can’t. We’ll die.” 

“Laurens-” 

“No, Alexander. We have to go now or we’ll be another body on the ground to add to a list of names that will immediately be forgotten. Come with me, please.” Laurens held his hand out for Alexander to take. Alexander turned to the British soldiers almost at their sides. His face turned to stone, then he gave his attention back to Laurens. 

“I’m staying.” 

“You can’t-” 

“I’m staying, even if that means I’m going to die. I won’t be like Lee. I’ll fight no matter the odds.” 

Laurens exhaled sharply. “Then, I’m staying with you.” 

Alexander’s eyes widened. “Laurens, don’t. You still have time. Don’t die just for me.” 

Laurens rolled his eyes. “Don’t be so self-centered. I’m not dying for you; I’m dying for my country. Isn’t that what you’re doing?” 

A hint of a smile played at Alexander’s lips. He turned back to the approaching three, and with no sign of their allied soldier in sight, he pulled his gun. Except it wasn’t just three anymore. It was all thirty. They didn’t run anymore. They formed a line of loading bayonets. They were about to execute Laurens and Alexander without a second thought. 

Laurens and Alexander faced their firing squad with full, beating hearts and chins held high. Alexander pointed his gun and saw Laurens’ eyes on him. Alexander hesitated. His throat was the desert. His heart seemed to stop or go a million beats per second. Either could be accurate. He realized what his fate was, and he remembered his conversation with Hercules and Lafayette. 

If these were his last moments, would it be the biggest mistake of his life to not say anything to Laurens? 

Alexander opened his mouth, and time slowed. Laurens’ eyes never moved from their place. They held Alexander’s gaze with steadfast determination. He knew their fate as well and had moved to accept it. He had used the last seven bullets between his two revolvers in their last moments already. Six out of his seven targets died. There was nothing left to do except wait for the redcoats’ guns to fire. 

“Laurens,” Alexander paused. 

“Yeah?” Laurens asked. 

'I only have the time for a few more words,' Alexander thought. 'I have to make it count.' 

“Laurens, I lo-” 

“Attack!” George Washinton’s voice boomed over the almost empty encampment. He rode past Alexander and Laurens on a black stallion. 

“Attack!” Lafayette appeared at their right on the last remaining horse, other than Lee’s. He glanced down at Alexander and Laurens with a wide grin. And then twenty or thirty of their men sprinted in front of them. 

Alexander gained composure, and so did Laurens. They heard a British soldier shout, “Fire!” 

Then, whatever number of redcoats still had ammunition let loose. Men arrived to aid the fight, and men died. But those redcoats had only prepared one shot. Lafayette galloped ahead with Alexander and Laurens at his heels. Their men had already dwindled down to seventeen or eighteen, and the redcoats' number remained. 

Until Lafayette and Washington hit. They wielded their swords like an extension of their arms. Slicing man after man. Other soldiers, including Laurens and Alexander, joined in on the fight. The fight continued as if both sides had equal power, except that wasn’t true. 

One British general’s voice boomed over the groaning, yelling, and wailing of men fighting. “Fall back!” 

The leftover British ran away. The wind lifted the hem of their red coats as they sprinted to safety. Alexander took a breath in, and then let it out. 

“Laurens?” He searched the crimson waters for Laurens. He was nowhere in sight. 

Lafayette was off his horse now, and he walked up to Alexander with a blank expression. “Hamilton, where is Laurens?” 

Alexander’s eyebrows knit together. “That’s what I was wondering. You haven’t seen him?” 

“Non,” Lafayette twisted to his left and his right. “You don’t think...” 

Alexander was quick to interfere with Lafayette’s thoughts. “No, I don’t think that.” 

“Wasn’t he with you?” 

“He was, but now he’s gone. He was right by my side just a second ago. I don’t know where he could have gone.” 

Lafayette nodded, then spun around and put his hands around his mouth to help his voice project. “Laurens! John Laurens!” 

Alexander’s stomach tightened, and the thought of vomiting didn’t seem strange to him at the moment. 

“Laurens,” he whispered. “Where are you?” 

Alexander walked to his left, and then his right. He paced in every direction and searched tents, and behind trees, under dead bodies, and between live bodies. He asked around. He pulled at his hair. He felt a stinging at his eyes. He didn’t think he could breathe. He put his head in his hands and a guttural, animalistic moan left his lips. 

“Laurens,” his voice wavered. “Where the fuck are you?” 

He stood in place, blind to the world around him. He had to keep searching. He couldn’t give up. Warm air curled at the nape of his neck. 

Not cold... warm. 

“You going soft on me, Hamilton?” 

Alexander spun around and saw his heat source. Stupid, curly hair, and stupid, melted chocolate eyes, and stupid, very, very stupid, full, peach-pink lips. 

Despite the overwhelming relief washing over him, Alexander growled his next statement. “Where were you?” 

“Helping some of the injured on the field onto wagons, so they could be wheeled back to camp, why?” The corner of Laurens’ mouth twitched. “Were you looking for me?” 

“Of course, I was. As any good friend would do, I planned to regroup with you immediately so you knew I was safe, but apparently, I’m the only one to think that way. Well, except for-” 

“LAURENS, YOU BASTARD!” Lafayette’s voice erupted from his chest, and almost ruptured Laurens and Alexander’s eardrums. 

Laurens smiled. “You weren’t worried about me, were you, Laf?” 

Lafayette halted in front of Laurens and his mouth fell open and he scoffed. “Worried? About you? Laurens, don’t be an idiot. I could not care less about you. I was just frustrated with you because it’s your fault we came to a stalemate.” 

Laurens’ eyebrows raised. “My fault? Where were you this whole time? You came in right at the end after Alexander and I had already killed half of the redcoats. You just rode in on your horse and killed one, maybe two, redcoats, then let everyone else do the work.” 

Lafayette gasped and put a hand to his heart. “One, maybe two?” 

Alexander laughed, and as they continued to argue he led them in the direction of their camp. And on the entire journey back to their temporary home, Lafayette and Laurens still argued. When they reached camp, most men headed to the medic’s tent. Lafayette, Laurens, and Alexander were unharmed, but they remained near the make-shift hospital in case any extra help was needed. They kept themselves busy, and as chaotic as it was to tend to wounded soldiers, they felt at peace since they were no longer fighting. Although, Alexander might have preferred to be in battle instead of with the injured. Then again, it wasn’t that bad. 

Alexander, Laurens, and Lafayette did their work as the moon operated for hours. They were not done even as the sun rose again. And when they finally finished, another problem occurred. Lee had been found, and he had not been restful. 

Lee stood outside the tent, standing in front of Washington and all other healthy soldiers. Alexander, Laurens, and Lafayette heard yelling and wormed their way into the crowd. Lee was at the front, spitting and scowling like a rabid dog. 

He said, “Washington cannot be left alone to his devices. Indecisive from crisis to crisis.” 

Alexander, Laurens, and Lafayette formed a weighted glare in the same moment. Alexander glanced at Washington at his left side, who held a disappointed stare instead of an angered one.   
Lee continued, “The best thing he can do for the revolution is turn and go back to planting tobacco on Mount Vernon.” 

Alexander took a step forward with his fists clenched. An arm flew in front of him, holding him in his place. 

Washington stared Alexander down. “Don’t do a thing. History will prove him wrong.” 

“But, Sir,” Alexander didn’t understand Washington’s reasoning. 

“We have a war to fight, let’s move along.” Washington placed his arm back at his side, then turned away from Lee and walked back to his quarters. 

Alexander huffed, and kept a taut line between his brow bones. He felt a hand drop on his shoulder. Laurens stood in front of him with similar tension, without the confusion. 

“Strong words from Lee, someone oughta hold him to it.” 

Alexander sighed, and shrugged his shoulders. “I can’t disobey direct orders.” 

“Then, I’ll do it.” 

Alexander’s eyes widened. 

“Alexander, you’re the closest friend I’ve got.” Laurens lifted his hand to the back of Alexander’s neck. 

Alexander repeated the gesture but held a hesitant plea in his eyes. “Laurens, do not throw away your shot.”


	22. A. Hamilton

As Laurens loaded his pistol and ranted about Lee’s misdoings, Alexander found the opposite of solace in his thoughts. Laurens was about to duel Lee. Lee is pathetic, wimpy, cowardly, and frail. There is no way Lee could win this duel. 

Laurens is brave, strong, impulsive, and die-hard for the cause. Also, a fantastic shot. There is no way Laurens could lose this duel. Laurens must know that, considering his bubbling confidence as he pointed his pistol in front of him, closing neither his left nor right eye, and making a small “pew” sound as he kept his finger off the trigger. His smile was clever and sharp. He knew exactly how this duel would end. There was no doubt or uncertainty in his eyes. His body language did not cower under the thoughts of a duel. A duel with the possibility of death. 

Alexander did not consider himself an anxious man. Not anxious, fearful, paranoid, or concerned when there was no cause to be. He trusted Laurens’ marksmanship. He trusted Laurens to win, and he trusted Lee to lose. 

But. 

But there was a feeling. It was small and lonesome. It crept into Alexander’s mind with short, spindly legs. Like a tiny spider. Its mouth was too small to bite anything, and even if it tried to cause harm it could not. You could barely feel it crawling on your arm. On your shoulder, the back of your neck, your earlobe, and inside your ear, into your brain. Almost non-existent. But you could feel it. You wanted to smack it away, but you couldn’t see it. You wanted to scratch, but it left no mark it was ever there. Why would you scratch when nothing was itching you? 

This thought was unwelcome because its minuscule presence toppled Alexander’s composure. It pricked exactly the right spot, and Alexander was sent into a frenzy. He felt uncomfortable in his own skin. Nausea begged to overtake him, but he resisted. He resisted the pain in his temples, but not in his stomach. He had no power there. It was like his stomach had disappeared. Can that happen? Can your stomach just remove itself from your body? 

'Well, the obvious answer is no. My stomach is there. I’m nervous for no reason because Laurens will be fine. Nothing bad will happen to him.' 

So, Alexander sat down. They were in Alexander and Laurens’ tent awaiting the medics to arrive, Lee’s second to be chosen, and a place to be picked for their duel. Also, Lee needed some time to grab his things, so Laurens and Alexander prepared in their tent. Laurens had stopped talking after a while and sat on a tree stump next to the broken cots. He sat and he pondered. He breathed in and out, and Alexander tried to use this pleasant sound to calm himself. He didn’t even need to be calmed down, by the way, this was just for fun... or something. 

Alexander hadn’t moved from his place. He still stood in one spot. Contemplating with the best person available. Himself, or better known as “it,” “insect,” “parasite,” “virus,” or “that thing.” The voice that plagued him the night of his wedding. The one who Alexander hated. 

'You should tell him how you feel.' 

'It doesn’t make any sense to do that. He’s going to survive. Besides, I have to tell Eliza my feelings first.' 

'You’re right. You should wait until Laurens makes a mistake in the duel, and dies. Then, you can go back to Eliza, tell her how you feel, come back to Laurens’ rotting corpse, and console him in the afterlife. Good thinking.' 

'Laurens is a capable shot. I have faith in him.' 

'As you should. You’re his friend, he deserves to be with someone who has faith in him. Unless he never gets that because Lee gets a lucky shot and kills Laurens. That would be fun, wouldn’t it? Imagine watching it all happen with all that wonderful confidence you have. Imagine him pointing his gun and firing, but being a second too late. Then, Laurens falls with blood trickling down his pretty face, and you get to see Lee rejoicing. Lee wins. Laurens loses. You lose. You never get to be happy; Laurens never gets to be happy. It’s really a great turn of events.' 

'I-' 

'And the best part is you get to go back with Eliza, and feel neutral for the rest of your life, with only your job to bring you happiness. Except for the part that it doesn’t always make you happy, and it's extremely stressful. But that’s okay, right? Yeah, you know what? Don’t tell Laurens because you’ve convinced me that everything is gonna be perfectly okay in this cute little princessy magical fairyland. I love this.' 

Alexander didn’t respond. He didn’t need to. The voice slithered into the back of his mind, hopefully never resurfacing again. Alexander continued to think over the possibilities. He didn’t want to listen to the snake, but shouldn’t he? When he was on the battlefield, without a second thought he almost told Laurens he loved him. He was a second away until Washington and Lafayette charged in and saved them. Washington and Lafayette won’t be able to save them this time. They won’t save Laurens because it’s just him versus Lee. 

Why is this situation so different? Why is he resisting the idea of telling Laurens his feelings now, when he was so close just a few hours ago? That didn’t make sense. Nothing made sense anymore. How much would it help anyway to tell Eliza first? Is it worth waiting, if Laurens dies? Is it worth waiting even if he doesn’t? He has to tell her, but it’s not like he can’t tell her afterward. He could tell Laurens right now. It would be so easy. Just a few words. Then a few more if Laurens wants an explanation. Didn’t Lafayette and Mulligan want him to kiss Laurens first, and answer questions later? That idea could work. No, probably not. Or it could. He could just walk up to Laurens, grab his face between his hands, and kiss him. He could feel the warmth he always wanted to feel. What did he say before? 

'I can imagine my fingers grazing the set of pink clouds or sweet, sugary candy. Candy that I can’t help but think about pressing my lips to - Could my tongue not taste the electrifying, and wet, ample lips of another? I imagine it to be much like sticking one’s tongue out when snow is falling. Like snow, as they are weightless and different from anyone else’s - But, I know that my tongue flicking Laurens’ lips, even in a feather-like motion, would always result in more than that of meekness and innocence. It would progress. It would not solely be my tongue or my lips, but a compelling duo. I know that would lead to more, but maybe I would save that thought for later. For a time when I am alone. After all, solitude is the most forgiving of companions.' 

Sweat pooled on Alexander’s brows. He wrung his hands. There was sweat there too. He licked his lips. They were dry. He cleared his throat. He needed a drink. He wiped his hands on his pants. He walked to the opening of the tent, and reached hand down to the snow-covered ground. He grabbed a handful of the loose, white flakes, and shoved it in his mouth. He swallowed. He turned around, and Laurens stared at him. 

“You okay?” He asked, a small smile playing at his lips. 

'Fuck, not his lips again. Stop it.' 

But he couldn’t. Alexander had never had such a small amount of control over himself. Or maybe he never had so much. 

“Alexander?” Laurens furrowed his brows. He left the small, tree stump, and rose to his feet. He was standing with his hands by his sides. He tilted his head. 

Alexander tried to think of an excuse or any logical reasoning. “Uh- yeah. I’m perfectly fine.” 

Sufficed to say, it wasn’t his best work. 

Laurens took a step forward. The light around them was soft. It was glaringly bright outside, but inside the tent, a sliver of white light peered through the opening. It was a thin strip that drew a line between Alexander and Laurens. It was a soft yellow, not white. He couldn’t pay attention to details anymore, apparently. The yellow was like a warning sign. Like an alarm going off in Alexander’s head. 

“Are you sure? You don’t look so good.” Laurens laughed. He covered his mouth with a sloppy fist. His eyes were less vibrant than usual. Only because of the lighting, of course, or else they’d be tearing at Alexander’s soul. 

Never mind. They were already doing that. 

The emotion behind his eyes was coy. Like Laurens had just told an inside joke that Alexander wasn’t a part of. 

'His smile, his curls, his, Jesus fucking Christ, his everything.' 

Everything, every part of Laurens made Alexander feel tingly. He felt, what did he feel? 

“Laurens, I need to tell you how I feel.” 

'Fuck, there’s no escaping it now.' 

Laurens took another step forward. He crossed one arm over the other, with his head still cocked to the right. A shred of sunlight highlighted Laurens’s chest. Like a strange, abstract horizon. Or something more plausible maybe. 

“I feel...” 

'What am I doing? This is wrong. I’m not thinking anything through. I have to stop. I let it go too far. Laurens will be fine. Shut up, shut up, shut up. No, I’m wrong. I can’t tell Laurens because I have to think of Eliza. This isn’t the right thing to do.' 

“Never mind, I don’t know what got into me.” Alexander stepped back. One, two, three steps, until the light was fuzzy and cool. The light was hesitant and nervous. The light was lonely and afraid. The light was dark. 

“Oh, okay.” 

The light was light. The light was cherished and courageous. The light was certain and confident. Four, five, six steps, until the light was clear and on fire. It was burning, it was lava, it seared, and scorched, and charred, and cooked its food to ash. 

Actually, it didn’t. It wasn’t that hot. It was just warm. It was a full belly after a feast. It was a drunken song. It was a wide grin and an arm around the shoulder. It was shoulder shrugs, and messy hair, and a loose tooth. It was morning coffee and a midnight snack. It was friendly. 

Actually, it wasn’t. For once, Alexander couldn’t find the right words. He couldn’t describe this feeling. He was speechless. 

His mind was lost at sea. In a maze, in a desert, in a labyrinth, under a rock, under the covers, behind a tree, between two people standing really, really close together. He didn’t know what to think, but more than that, he couldn’t. 

But more than that, he didn’t need to. 

Have you ever had a million thoughts about a person, but knew they would never come true? Fantasies about them near you, dreams of them on you, or you on them? Thoughts of their skin brushing against yours. Ideas of excitement and wonder and the thrill of another in your grasp, and with the same thoughts as you? 

Well, have you? 

It really is hard to come to the conclusion those images will never be a reality. Most, if not all, people have to deal with that disappointment in their gut. That nothing goes their way. That they never get what they want. 

Let me tell you a little secret. 

You do get what you want. Maybe it's rare, and maybe it's not what you first expected, but you’ll have at least one good moment where everything is perfect. Where the stars align. Where your deepest, truest fantasies come true. And I know it might be hard to imagine, but it’s a little something like this... 

“Oh, okay.” 

Alexander let his eyes fall to his feet. He felt unfinished. Like he didn’t know what foot to use for his next step. Or how to breathe anymore. 

He heard heavy footsteps. Not many, but in quick succession. He saw Laurens an inch in front of him. He felt rough, large, calloused hands holding his cheeks. Then, he felt a lot more. 

His lips were the first to receive. His waist, his back, his chest, his hands, his head, his neck, they were next. It was so much pressure in one area. He froze to try and comprehend, and when that didn’t work, he just let his body do the work. Laurens’ hands had been on his cheeks, and now an arm was wrapped tightly around his lower back, and a hand was on the back of his head. 

Laurens was kissing him. He was kissing Laurens. They kissed each other. 

It was never tender; it was just passionate. Now, Alexander really didn’t know how to breathe. He took split-seconds to gasp for a breath before diving back underwater. Laurens stole his oxygen, and filled him with helium. He was floating. His knees grew weaker by the second. He grabbed at Laurens’ shoulders to steady himself, and then he realized he didn’t need to because Laurens held him so close, there was no space left between them. He was secured. He was safe. He wasn’t going to fall. 

Alexander had Laurens’ lips on his for what felt like a second because it was taken away so quickly. Laurens pulled away, and Alexander’s head tried to clear. 

Their breathing was heavy and loud. Alexander’s hair was no longer in binds. He took a step back and looked around the room. But his eyes were attracted to Laurens, just like the rest of him, so they had to go back to him. 

Laurens scratched the back of his neck. His head was tilted toward the floor, and a soft blush blossomed on his cheeks. He smiled. “Uh... for luck?” 

Alexander had no words, yet Laurens had all of them. 

He stepped back, and his face lost its boyish charm and was replaced with panic and stress. He covered his face with his hands and shook his head. “Dammit, that’s a lie.” 

He uncovered his face, and his eyebrows pulled close together. His lips parted, and he waved his arms in front of him. “Fuck, Alexander. So, it wasn’t for luck, okay? Whatever, I wasn’t thinking. I was doing it because I was worried this duel might go wrong, and I wouldn’t have a chance to tell you how I feel.” 

Alexander still didn’t move or speak. Laurens groaned. 

“Shit, that’s a lie too. Lee’s pathetic. Of course, I’m going to win. I did it because I couldn’t stop myself, alright? I thought I could control myself, and I have been for a while, but a week or two ago we were talking, I broke our cots, and then we slept on the ground and you were in my fucking arms. I- it was too much. I couldn’t handle that. I could just feel so much how I hated the situation I let myself get into. It’s hard. It’s really hard. And- and, I know you’re with Eliza, and I know I can’t have you, and it was selfish to kiss you, and probably a dick move, but I just couldn’t not, ya know?” 

Laurens closed the distance between Alexander and him again and held Alexander by the shoulders. He made an incoherent whimper, then backed away again. “I’m so sorry. I just needed you to know how I felt. And I was worried that if I told you the truth, you would hate me for it, and... and I would never get to kiss you. So, yeah, it was selfish. I just thought my best bet was to kiss first and answer questions later. It made sense. Well, okay, no, it didn’t. Not a great plan, but it sounded good enough to me because it meant I got to kiss you, so fuck me, alright? I messed up. But I’m happy I did it anyway. God, it felt so good. You felt so good.” 

Laurens ran his hands through his hair. “I just love you. There’s no better way to say it, except I love you. But don’t worry, you don’t have to say it back obviously. You don’t even love me anyway, so it doesn’t matter. Let’s just-” 

“I love you too.” 

Laurens dropped his hands back at his sides and adjusted his posture. “What did you say?” 

Alexander took exactly five steps forward. He grabbed Laurens by the collar of his shirt and pulled him down to his height. Their lips grazed each other, and Alexander felt the hot breath between them. Laurens swallowed. Alexander flicked his tongue against Laurens’ top lip. Both smiled. 

“I said, I love you too.” 

Laurens laughed. “I like the sound of that.” 

Laurens placed his hand around Alexander’s waist, held him tight, then lifted. His fingers indented the tender flesh of the back of Alexander’s thighs. Alexander’s legs wrapped nicely around Laurens, and Laurens’ next mission was to find an exciting place for his hands, his lips, his tongue, and a place for Alexander, possibly on the ground. And possibly, directly under Laurens. 

What name did I just say? 

“Laurens!” A voice belonging to Aaron Burr broke the tension between them. “John Laurens! Lee is ready to duel! Meet him outside in five minutes!” 

“Fuck,” Laurens growled. 

Alexander raised an eyebrow. “Already? Okay, then.” 

Laurens couldn’t help the smile that wickedly corrupted his features. His hands were still on the bottom of Alexander’s thighs, but then they moved a little further up. To a place that made Alexander shiver. 

“So eager,” Laurens said. “I might lose control if you’re not careful.” 

Alexander really, really, really did not expect to see a side like this come out of Laurens. He was utterly shocked, but he didn’t mind it. It felt... dirty. 

Laurens carefully placed Alexander on the ground. He grabbed his face, pecked him on the cheek, then winked. “Time to shoot Lee, you coming?”

Alexander pulled himself, reluctantly, out of the haze and locked eyes with Laurens. “Of course.” 

Laurens grabbed his pistol, opened the tent, and strutted into the cold. Alexander followed him. Oddly enough, it seems a kiss from Laurens gives you powers. Powers like feeling invincible. Or feeling so deliciously warm and happy inside you’re immune to Winter weather. 

Alexander laughed. He could get used to this.


	23. J. Laurens

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally switched to using apostrophe's as italics, to italics as italics. Please don't ask me why it took so long for me to figure out how to do it on this website. I am just as ashamed as you might expect. Thank you for bearing with me.

Laurens and Alexander walked a quarter-mile outside the camp, behind two small hills, and between two large Pine trees. They arrived to duel with Lee, but he was not there. Instead, they saw Lafayette.

Laurens stepped closer to Lafayette creating a soft crunch with every footfall on packed snow. Lafayette turned around and greeted Laurens and Alexander with a smile. But it was not just a smile. Lafayette held his hands close to his chest and stood on the balls of his feet. To Laurens, it felt like every other time Lafayette had some random news to share, that generally excited him much more than anyone else. However, Laurens was always delighted to see Lafayette’s enthusiasm, so he never complained. Then again, this time he was sure he had something more interesting to tell Lafayette. 

“Laurens, Xander-” Laurens heard Alexander groan behind him. Lafayette also noticed this but continued nonetheless. “I have the most wonderful news to tell you, and you’ll never believe it.” 

Laurens and Alexander stood in front of Lafayette, both illustrating anticipation on their faces. 

“Go ahead, tell-” 

Lafayette left no opening for Laurens to finish his sentence before he blurted, “Hercules has gotten married!” 

Imagine two people pouring water into their mouths, about to swallow, and then someone steps on their stomach. The expression those two would exhibit was shared between Laurens and Alexander. 

Alexander began to speak, but Lafayette didn’t care to let him. “ Aaaaaaaand , Hercules and his wife, Elizabeth, have a newborn baby!” 

Now imagine those two people dying of shock. The expression those two would exhibit was also shared between Laurens and Alexander. 

“Isn’t it wonderful? I cannot imagine this day getting any better.” A smile slept on Lafayette’s face, and he sighed. “So, what do you think?” 

Laurens glanced at Alexander with wide eyes, then turned back to Lafayette. “I can’t believe Herc is married.” 

Alexander laughed. “And after all the time he voiced his distaste against marriage. How ironic.” 

Laurens nodded. “Especially with a baby too. A husband and a father in such a small amount of time. I guess I didn’t realize he had been gone for that long.” 

“Me either,” Alexander said. “How old is the baby?” 

Lafayette shrugged. “I think he said a few weeks now. The baby was two months premature though. I can’t imagine how small he must have looked in Hercules’ arms.” 

Both Laurens and Alexander asked the next question. “He?” 

Lafayette darted between both of their wide stares and dropped jaws. “Oui. Hercules and Elizabeth have a little boy. His name is Joseph. Joseph Mulligan.” 

Laurens cocked his head. “Hey, isn’t Joseph one of your names?” 

Lafayette rolled his eyes. “Oui and I brought that up to Hercules, but of course he denied me being his child’s inspiration. Such a silly thing to lie about. You would think Hercules would know me better than to believe a falsehood like that. Little  Jojo will be my clone, and there is nothing anyone can do about it.” 

Alexander stifled a laugh. “ Jojo ? You’ve given him a nickname already?” 

Laurens chimed in, also doing his best to cover his amusement. “What did Herc say about that?” 

Lafayette scoffed and shook his head. “It doesn’t matter what he says because that is  Jojo’s name, and it always will be. I have decided it, and I never turn back on my word. Besides, Hercules has not responded to my letter yet.” 

Laurens and Alexander turned to each other and burst out laughing. Their joy was of course ruined in seconds because Lee finally decided to join the party. Behind him was Aaron Burr, and the medic. Lee, whose voice I won’t make you hear, wasted no time talking, so Burr and Alexander could fail to diffuse the situation, and Lee could line up ten paces from Laurens. 

_One._

The count began, and Laurens held his gun-hand by his side. His right hand was steady. He did not tremble or shake. The time he had before he fired was small, yet it dragged on forever. Alexander and Lafayette stood at his right. His gaze flickered to them for a split-second. In a duel, letting your focus be hindered is a bad idea, but it was Lee Laurens was fighting, so he was allowed a few liberties. 

Alexander, his friend, his confidant, the only person he’s ever loved, was just a few paces away from him. Laurens felt his consciousness immersed yet again in the kiss they shared. He didn’t expect Alexander to kiss him back. If he let truth into his words, he did not expect anything back. At least, anything good. He could have understood disgust or hatred. He would have understood confusion and, especially, rejection. But it was nothing like what he expected. For once, something truly spectacular had occurred. And it wasn’t for anyone else, but him. 

_Five._

He was back in the duel, and then his mind was swept off its feet again. Except it wasn’t to Alexander, but to the man he dueled last. Robert Gray. He had killed that man for defiling him, and now he was willing to do the same to Lee, a man who had only spoken ill of his commander. Although, not only did he mouth off, but he drew his men into a battle unprepared, then left them for dead because he was scared. Laurens hated men like Lee. But did his hatred for Lee constitute his death? He killed Gray because of the pain he caused him, but assuredly to others as well. He would have been the same disgusting leech until the day he died. But would he really? 

_How could I know for sure?_

He believed Mulligan was right when he said a man like Gray did not deserve the life he had been given. He also believed himself, when he agreed it was the right decision. Was it not noble enough to honor the rules of their lives with a duel? Laurens could never let himself kill a man in cold blood without giving the other the same opportunity against him. He thought that was enough, but who was he to decide whether a man should live or die. 

_I thought I believed in second chances for all, no matter who they are. But what am I now? I can’t imagine forgiving Gray for what he did. But Gray was no soldier. I could have brought him into the hands of the law, and there would have been justice. Even if Gray tried to convince them I had started the whole thing, I was drunk. They wouldn’t trust the word of a citizen over an aide de camp to Washington. But then I would have to lie. I would have to disguise the fact that at one point I wanted Gray. That I started it. That he was able to overpower me. It should never matter how drunk I was. I’m a soldier, and I let myself be beaten because I had no control over my emotions. And when Hercules told me to seek justice by my own hand, I couldn’t control myself again. I wanted to see Gray hurt like I was. So, I let myself duel him because I had no hold on my impulses. Maybe I should regret killing Gray, but I don’t. The truth is I wouldn’t take it back. And that might be immoral, but it’s in the past now. I can’t change what I’ve done, or what’s happened to me._

_So, what do I do now? If I want to have control over myself, how can I gain control when I’m in the middle of a countdown. I still believe Lee should pay for what he’s done, but Washington would be able to handle it. He didn’t even care what Lee said, he just told Alexander to move on. I should never have let myself challenge Lee. And worse, I dragged Alexander into my mess and put him at risk for being my second. I could point my gun to the sky, but-_

_Ten._

Laurens pulled his gun, but he had no time to surrender. He was known for his talent with a gun, and he had only one foreseeable choice. Shoot to injure, not to kill. 

Next, Laurens heard Alexander’s voice. 

“Lee, do you yield?” He rushed forward a few steps in front of Laurens. 

Burr yelled back, “You shot him in the side, yes he yields!” 

_Good, I didn’t kill him._

Laurens interjected while tucking his pistol back in his breeches. “I’m satisfied.”

Burr held Lee up, and said, “We  gotta clear the field!” 

Alexander twisted around and faced Laurens and Lafayette. “Go, we won.” 

“Here comes the general,” Lafayette said. 

Laurens stood in his place, by Alexander’s side, but Alexander kept gesturing for Laurens to leave him. Before Laurens could protest Alexander’s wishes, Lafayette dragged him off the field leaving Alexander, Burr, and Lee alone in their ruin. 

“What is the meaning of this?” Washington yelled. 

As Laurens was forced away from the scene the last thing he heard was “Hamilton,” “Sir,” “Meet me inside.” 

Before Laurens could register how far he had been taken, he was in Lafayette’s tent. 

“Well, that could have been better,” Lafayette said, taking a seat on his cot. 

Laurens faced him but chose not to sit. “Yeah.” 

Lafayette tilted his head up at Laurens. “Hey, is something wrong?” 

Laurens tried to snap into focus, shaking off the cloudiness. “Uh- no. Not really. It’s just that if I wouldn’t have challenged Lee, Alexander wouldn’t be in this situation.” 

Lafayette shrugged. “You have nothing to worry about, mon  ami . Washington’s mad, but he won’t punish Alexander too badly. Well, unless he opens his mouth. Then, there might be a problem.” 

“So, we have a problem?” 

“Oui, it would seem so.” 

Laurens groaned and took a seat next to Lafayette. “It’s my fault,” Laurens said. 

Lafayette leaned into Laurens for a second. “It is, but there’s no use crying about it. You can’t change what you did. And look at the bright side, you didn’t kill Lee.” 

Laurens chuckled. “I thought you said look at the bright side.” 

Lafayette laughed. “I think that’s the first time you’ve been funny, Laurens. Good job.” 

Laurens rolled his eyes. “You know who you sound like?” 

“Who?” 

“Herc.” 

Lafayette scrunched his face. “That is the most insulting thing you have ever said to me. Never repeat that.” 

Laurens laughed, then dropped his gaze to the floor. Silence took place in the tent for three seconds until Lafayette decided it was enough. “I just remembered something.” 

“What is it?” 

Lafayette craned his head to the left to make eye contact with Laurens. “When you and Hamilton came to the duel, why did something seem off between you two?” 

Laurens felt the blush cover his face so fast, it felt like a candle lit inside each of his cheeks. “What do you mean by off?” 

Lafayette narrowed his eyes. “I mean, you didn’t have that sad, droopy look in your eyes whenever you looked at him, and he didn’t have that oblivious, but endearing look he always has when he looks at you. Both of you looked... giddy.” 

Laurens was about to answer, but Lafayette gasped and grabbed Laurens’s shoulders. “It finally happened, didn’t it? You guys kissed; I knew it!” 

Laurens’ eyes stretched wide. He put a hand on Lafayette’s mouth. “Yeah, we did, but you don’t have to shout it so everybody else can know.” 

Lafayette swiped Laurens’ hand away from his face. “Whatever, Laurens, it is not like anyone will know I am talking about you and Xander. Now, tell me every detail.” 

After Laurens had broken down the kiss scene to Lafayette, Laurens still sat upright on Lafayette’s cot, but Lafayette was kneeling on the ground in front of Laurens. 

“I cannot believe it,” Lafayette said. 

Laurens shrugged with a smile. “Me either.” 

Lafayette’s eyebrows pulled together, and he stood up. “First, I have to write Hercules immediately. Second, what are you still doing here then? You heart strung idiot. You should be in your tent waiting for Hamilton, not here with me. You did not think anything through apparently because whatever happens with Washington could lead to many different reactions for Hamilton, and you have to be there for him.” 

Lafayette grabbed Laurens’ collar and yanked him out of his cot. Laurens didn’t have time to speak before he was thrown out of Lafayette’s tent. Laurens, thrown, fell on his ass in the cold snow. He picked himself up, dusted the back of his pants, and grinned. Lafayette may be an irrational and violent man, but the intentions behind everything he does is always for the best. 

“Thanks, Laf,” Laurens whispered. He turned around, walked six or seven steps, and he was inside his tent. He kept his back to the entrance and moved to the pile of ash and sticks in the middle of the tent. He might as well start a fire while he waits. After a few tries, the flames tickled the air. He tossed the paper balls from a week or two ago into the fire and put his palms toward the warmth. He was crouched low, but he quickly twisted around and rose to his feet when he heard someone enter. Alexander. 

Laurens opened the conversation. “Hey.” 

Alexander tilted his head up, and Laurens’s stomach churned when their eyes met. It was a good feeling until the emotions behind Alexander’s eyes registered in Laurens’ head. He took a few steps forward, but he didn’t come too close. 

“What’s wrong?” He asked. 

Alexander made his way to his belongings and started... packing. “I’ve been ordered to go home.” 

Laurens didn’t hear Alexander right. He heard “I’ve been ordered to go home,” but there must have been some miscommunication or a bug in his ear because that couldn’t be a reality. 

“What was that?” 

Alexander still did not turn around. “I’ve been ordered to go home.” 

“Why?” 

“I let infighting happen, and I lashed out at Washington.” 

Laurens took a breath. He moved closer to Alexander, who glided back and forth between the writing desk, his pile of miscellaneous items, and his bag. 

“I’m sorry, Alexander. I shouldn’t have challenged Lee. I could go to Washington and tell him it was my fault, and I bet he’d let you stay.” 

Alexander finally faced Laurens. He put a hand on Laurens’ shoulder. “Thank you, Laurens. But it wasn’t your fault, and no matter what you say Washington will not change his mind. This is what has to happen. We can’t undo what’s been done. Or said.” 

Laurens slumped. “Where does this leave us, then?” 

Alexander sighed. “It leaves us apart.” 

Laurens shook his head. “No, you haven’t tried everything. You don’t know Washington would say no, maybe he’ll listen to me. It could work. I’ll go right now and-” 

“Stop.” 

“Why?” Laurens pushed Alexander away. “Why aren’t you fighting harder for this?” 

“Because I know Washington. This isn’t in our hands anymore.” 

“You’re giving up so easily. I don’t understand. You refused to leave the battlefield when it was sure you would have died. No matter the odds, you stayed because it didn’t matter what other people told you, you were going to fight for what you believed in. Where has that dedication gone? Don’t you care?” Laurens ran his hands through his hair, then stopped. “Never mind. I- I know you care. I know you’re right. And if there was something to do to fix this, you would. I just...” 

Alexander removed the space between them and held Laurens’ hand in his. He lifted it, then placed Laurens’ hand on his heart. He put his own hand on Laurens’. “I understand. You’re fighting this as much as possible because you don’t know when you will ever see me again, and I don’t know either. It might be never. Who knows what might happen to us before the next time we meet?” 

A tear begged to fall from Laurens’ eyes, but he would not allow it. 

Alexander continued, “The only thing I can say to you is I love you. I wish there was something to be done to fix this, and if there was I would do it. But we don’t have that luxury or the luxury of time. I have to leave tonight. I’m sorry, Laurens.” 

Laurens nodded and stood in place with his hand still on Alexander’s heart, and Alexander’s on his. “I’m sorry too.” 

Alexander dropped his head and leaned it against Laurens’ chest. Laurens pulled Alexander into his embrace, and for a while, they didn’t move. They breathed, they hugged tighter, and they took what little time they had to be with each other. Eventually, Alexander had to return to his packing, so he did. He finished, and he turned to leave for his carriage, and Laurens followed him. Alexander stopped. 

“I don’t want you to come with me,” he said. 

Laurens took a step forward. “What, why?” 

Alexander couldn’t bear to look in Laurens’ eyes, but he did anyway. “Because I don’t think I’ll be able to leave if I see your face right before I go. I have to say goodbye here. This has to be it.” 

Laurens breathed shakily, and then he nodded. “Alright. Goodbye, Alexander.” 

Alexander smiled. He grabbed Laurens's face, and pulled him down to his height, and kissed him. Laurens moved slower this time. Both of them did. Laurens’ fingertips slid into Alexander’s hair. He pulled away, only to return a moment later. With every second, they fell deeper into each other. The speed didn’t change, but the definition did. Laurens let his sadness, and his unwillingness to let go into the kiss. He held Alexander tight in his arms, and, this time, he pulled away to rest. He breathed in cool air, a stark contrast to his previous temperature. He never opened his eyes. He felt Alexander plant a light, snow-falling kiss on his lips, sigh into him, and then lean into his ear. 

“Whenever I miss you, call me Alex.” 

Laurens’ furrowed his brows. “How will I know when to call you that, then?” 

“Start out with every moment of every day, and when we meet again, I’ll let you know if you were right.” And then, Alexander walked out and he was gone.

“Okay,” Laurens smiled. “Alex.” 

Laurens stood in the tent alone. He didn’t move, and still, he did not open his eyes. The image of Alexander played in his mind, and his voice lingered in his ears. He didn’t want to know what it would look like, sound like, smell like, feel like, and even taste like without Alexander near him. Almost an hour passed before Laurens let his urges, more like his needs, open his eyes and move him. He didn’t want to be alone, so he decided on the next best thing to having Alexander. Lafayette. He wrapped a coat around his shoulders and walked out of his tent. Snow fell on his head, so he tilted his head up. Tiny white stars, soft and cold drifting away from their home. He stuck his tongue out and closed his eyes waiting for the flakes to fall into his mouth. He stood there for a few moments, and then he heard rustling to his left. He opened his eyes and turned to see Lafayette. 

“Alexander left,” Laurens said. 

Lafayette sighed. “I know.” 

Then, Lafayette stood by Laurens’ side, in the cold, tilted his head up, closed his eyes, and stuck his tongue out. Laurens laughed, then repeated the gesture. For a few moments, they stood there moving their heads to the left and to the right trying to catch as many snowflakes as they could without using vision to aid them. Soon enough, it became a competition. And after that, they decided to find as many games as possible, that they could make up on the spot, to play in the snow. Eventually, more soldiers- beaten up, tired, and weary- saw their impromptu, childish joy, and joined in. While creating Winter games on the spot was not easy, there was a ginormous snowball fight that erupted between the growing number of soldiers until most of the camp joined in. Others, in smaller numbers, built snowman versions of their friends, or made snow angels, or mimicked Laurens and Lafayette’s previous snowflake catching game. 

Laurens and Lafayette, tired from winning the snowball fight, decided to create snowmen. They decided to build one of each other, and, of course, make it as insulting as possible. On multiple occasions, Lafayette punched Laurens’ snowman creation, and Laurens beheaded Lafayette’s. Laurens realized he had been laughing the whole time, and he couldn’t be more grateful for Lafayette, who stood by his side no matter what, and always knew how to make him feel better. 

As Laurens stood up, sprinted toward Lafayette’s newest snow creation, and pummeled through it, he thought, _Thanks, Laf._


	24. A. Hamilton

White. White is the color of the door to Alexander and Eliza’s house. Not only their house but their home. The door was wooden, painted with layers of white. The doorknob, however, was gold. Most of the expensive parts of their home were a gift from Philip Schuyler, Eliza’s father. He knew Alexander would not have the funds to provide himself or Eliza with a particularly nice home, so he filled in the holes where he could. Alexander was thankful. Although he usually would not have liked the gift, Eliza helped him see the light in the “pathetic charity that we’re reduced to,” as Alexander would say. 

As his memory of the door’s history crossed his mind, he realized he was stalling. He had to see her, and he had to tell her what had happened between him and Laurens. He had to confess. While these daunting thoughts hung over him, he could at least take the first step. 

He knocked. Three times. 

He heard the soft patter of footsteps, most likely bare, arrive at the door, then pause. The doorknob twisted, and the door slid open. Behind the door, with bare feet, stood his wife, Eliza. Usually, her hair was tied half-up, half-down, but now her hair was loose. She wasn’t speaking; she just stared. Her eyes were bright and glimmering in the mid-day sunlight. Alexander forgot his purpose in those eyes. Or, more likely, he forced his purpose away, hoping it would disappear. He didn’t want to be the person to hurt her and rip that beautiful smile off her face. So, he tried not to think about it. 

“Alexander,” Eliza whispered. 

Alexander smiled and dropped his bag on the steps. He opened his arms wide. “Eliza. My love, how are you?” 

Eliza did not describe her mood. Instead, she jumped into Alexander’s embrace, kicking her feet up in the process. He grabbed his bag, threw it inside, and carried her through the door as well. He closed the door and set her down. Immediately, she grabbed his face in hers and brought him down for a kiss. He hesitated in the kiss, his eyes wide open, as his purpose rammed into his consciousness. He didn’t pull away; he kissed back. He held her head in his hand, and he let her express all of her pent-up emotions. He expressed nothing but misplaced courtesy. Eventually, she pulled away with a toothy grin and a hint of a blush on her cheeks. 

She held his face in her hands as she said, “I’ve wanted to do that for so long.” 

His gaze dropped to the ground for a moment before he met her eyes. The corners of his mouth lifted for a second, but he felt the lies leaking into every part of his psyche. He hated to be false with her. But he couldn’t seem to form the right words to transition from dishonesty to honesty. 

“What’s wrong?” Eliza asked, leading Alexander to a bench on the porch outside of their home and sitting him down. 

Alexander laughed and scratched the back of his neck. He held Eliza’s hand in his and leaned down to kiss it. “Nothing for you to worry about, my dear. I’ve just been thinking about what happened between Washington and me. I wanted to fight until the war was won, but I got thrown out and I don’t think I’ll be allowed to see the end of it.” 

Eliza walked behind him and put her hands on his shoulders. “There’s nothing for you to worry about either. I won’t try to act like I know what you’re going through, but there is more to life than war. There’s so much for you here if you just look around at how lucky we are to be alive right now.” 

Alexander felt the weight of so much more than just Eliza’s hands on his shoulders. He kept his eyes on the ground. “How can you be happy with me? I have nothing to provide you with any more. We’ll be poor, and we’ll have nothing.”

Eliza slid her hands down to his chest and leaned into his back. “I relish being your wife, Alexander. Look at where you started. The fact that you’re alive is a miracle. Just stay alive, and that would be enough.” 

Alexander leaned into her touch, but she pulled away and came to sit next to him. He yearned for the comfort of her words. To tell him he’s a good person, and he’s enough for her. It felt so nice, but it was sickening of him to receive these words as if he had done anything to deserve them. 

Eliza continued. “We don’t need a legacy. We don’t need money. I could grant you peace of mind if you’d let me inside of your heart.” 

She placed her hands in his. “Let me be a part of the narrative, in the story they will write someday. Let this moment be the first chapter, where you decide to stay and I could be enough.” 

Her eyes held a proposal, a promise, a question, and an answer. Alexander felt himself falling into her words of solace and hope. Life could be so easy, couldn’t it? Would it be enough to stay with Eliza, and never tell her the truth? 

Eliza rested her head on Alexander’s shoulder. She breathed soft and quiet like an evening breeze floating through the trees. She was desperate for their happiness together, and she swore she could provide it if Alexander would just let her in. Alexander continued to battle his thoughts, to battle himself, all the way until dinner. Eliza made roast. Steaming and wonderful with fresh bread, and a salad, and wine to drink. Perfect portions of golden colors, shimmering and bright, and hearty. Eliza understood the beauty and deliciousness of the meal, but Alexander did not. He barely touched his food. Eliza noticed this. 

“Aren’t you hungry?” She asked, peering over from her end of the long, dining table. 

Alexander snapped his head in her direction, and he smiled briefly. “Sorry, I seem to be stuck in my thoughts.” 

Eliza nodded. “What are you thinking about?” 

Alexander scraped his metal knife against the fork. A sharp shriek filled the air with each stroke of his hand. “It’s nothing, Eliza. Just thoughts about my work, and what I’ll be doing now that I’m staying here.” 

Eliza sighed. She dropped the napkin from her lap onto the table, as she stood. She walked over to Alexander’s side of the table and sat down next to him. She propped her elbows on the table and folded them. Her expression was pensive. She had something she wanted to say, but she wasn’t sure how. Then, she figured it out. 

“I’ve been thinking about this for a long time since you’ve been gone.” Alexander lifted his head and turned to face her. His attention was stolen, and curiosity took place of worry. “We’ve been married for a little while now, but we haven’t seen each other much. I know that you love me and that I love you, but there are a few things I feel we are missing. If you don’t agree with me, I’ll understand perfectly. This is a big deal, and if you don’t want to, I won’t push you, but this is something I really want. Something I love the idea of.” 

Alexander furrowed his brows. He had no idea where she was going with this. 

“I want to have a baby with you.” 

While he wasn’t eating much, he had no issue taking his time with the wine. As his mouth was full of the dark liquid, he almost spit in her face at that very moment. He would have if it wasn’t for his previously installed, regal composure, and napkin in hand. After he cleaned his mouth of any stray droplets, he scratched at the walls of his mind for a reply. 

“Are you sure?” He asked. 

Eliza cocked her head with a hesitant smile. “Yes, I’m sure. I’ve been thinking about this for a while now, Alexander. I know what I want, but I’m serious when I say we don’t have to if you don’t feel ready.” 

Alexander didn’t want to deny his wife of her desires. She deserved what she wanted, but he also didn’t want to betray his wants. And the fact that he would rather be having sex with Laurens than Eliza. Even now, his body began to curl up at the thought, where previously it would... well, it wouldn’t curl up that’s for sure. 

“I-” 

Eliza interrupted. “Are you okay? You don’t look well.” 

“Hmm?” 

Eliza sat up. “Here, I’ll get you a cold washcloth,” She put her hand to his forehead. “Jesus, you’re burning up Alexander. Don’t worry, I’ll get your water too. Just stay here.” 

Alexander stayed. Eliza was in the kitchen doing her best to calm Alexander down. She thought it was working, but the truth was, it wasn’t. She put the cold washcloth on his forehead, and he held it there. She gave him a glass of cold water, and he downed it in seconds. After a few minutes, Eliza decided to move him to the living room on the couch. Maybe he would be able to relax there. He seemed much better, but then again, she didn’t know what he was thinking about. 

“Do you feel better now?” She asked, scooching closer to him. 

He nodded. “Yes, thank you. I must have brought something over from the war. I don’t know what came over me.” 

She leaned forward and wrapped him in her arms. She pulled away, then planted a kiss on his lips. He kissed her back, but it ended quickly. She stroked his hair. “Look, Alexander. There’s no need to feel pressured. If you’re not ready for kids, you’re not ready. It’s okay. It’s not like we can’t try later, okay?” 

_Later? Later. Later, we can try. Later, we can have kids. Later, we will have kids. Not now, but later. Forever in this house, with a woman, with children. Forever lying and forever apart from real love. Fuck._

Eliza leaned in to kiss him again, but he shot up from the couch and stood in front of her. Her face conveyed every understandable reaction to his brash movements. She raised an eyebrow. 

“Eliza,” He said, he straightened his arms by his sides and held his body rigidly. 

Eliza giggled. “At ease, soldier,” and then she saluted. 

Alexander laughed, and finally, there was a sliver of calm running through him. He relaxed his posture and held his hands in front of him. He had to tell her, and he had to tell her now. Not later. Now. 

“Eliza, I can’t have children with you.” 

She sat with her arms in front of her, and hands on her thighs. She waited for his next words. 

Alexander didn’t move from his place. “I can’t have children with you ever.” 

Still, she remained emotionless. She knew he would fill the air himself, so there was no point in speaking until he had finished what she knew was going to be a very long explanation. 

“Not only that, but I can’t be with you anymore. I’m in love with someone else.” Alexander took a step forward, but one emotion rose to the surface of her face, and he knew well enough to step back. “I still love you, I really do, but not in the same way I love him.” 

This time, the emotion on her face was less subtle. Her eyebrows furrowed, and her mouth parted to speak, but she closed it. This too would be explained. 

“I know what I am about to say is unlawful. It’s not right, and I wish I never had to say these words. Mostly, I wish none of this was true, but it is. I don’t love you because I happened to have fallen for some other woman. The reason I love you differently is because of who I am. Who I’ve found out I am. I’ve been pushing these feelings away for a long time, mostly because I thought they weren’t real, but I know now they are.” Alexander took a breath. “I’m in love with John Laurens.” 

He waited for her response, but she just sat with wide eyes. She leaned back into the couch and crossed her arms. “Go on,” she said. 

“I thought I could get over my feelings for him, but someone punched some sense into me, and made me realize what I was doing to myself. Not only me, but Laurens, and you. I wasn’t being honest with you, and I couldn’t live a lie forever. I would have if it wasn’t for Hercules and Lafayette, but that would have been wrong. I need you to know that I still love you, Eliza. I’m just not the same man you once knew. And if I keep pretending to be, I’ll be hurting you. I want you to be as happy as you can be, and that’s not going to be with me. I wish I could bring you all the happiness and care a husband should, but I can’t. I’ve deceived you and myself for too long, and I’d be ruining our lives by trying to keep this marriage going. I’m so sorry, Eliza. I would change all of this if I could. I would change myself for you if I could. I-” 

Eliza rose to her feet. She stepped in front of Alexander, and said, “Stop. You don’t need to say anymore. I- I'll need some time to think, Alexander. I think I’ll go outside now.” 

She turned around and walked outside. Alexander stood alone without a clue of what he had just said. Without any idea of his next move, or how long it might take her to talk to him. He sat on the couch and waited. He was itching to do something, but he knew he couldn’t. He abandoned the living room and moved to the study. He pulled a chair to a desk and sat down. He began to write. It was the best thing he could think to do, so he wrote, and he wrote. He wrote a letter. Not to Eliza, but to Laurens. Only questions about the war, and about him. How he was doing, and how the rest of the soldiers were. When he finished writing this, he wrote to Eliza. There were still things he wanted to say to her, so he bundled each point into ink on paper. He didn’t know how long he had been writing until the sun rose. Each day, he wrote, he ate, he went into town for anything Eliza and him needed, and he kept his distance. He so badly wanted to close the space between them, but he couldn’t. Days passed, as she silently waded through the still air in their home. She talked in short sentences and kept to herself in their backyard. 

A week passed. 

Today, at seven in the afternoon, Alexander was outside. He sat on a bench and stared at the remnants of sunlight in the sky. He didn’t know where Eliza was, but he assumed anywhere away from him. He understood she must hate him now. He couldn’t take back his words, and more importantly his actions. There was nothing to do except hope one day she would come around. 

_Creak._

The door opened behind him, and footsteps sounded to his left. He turned to face the intruder, and there was Eliza. He stared into her eyes, and he didn’t know how to process what he saw. A smile. Completely sincere and bright and kind, like he remembered it to be. This didn’t make sense. 

He stood up immediately. “Eliza,” he said. 

She held her hand up. “Don’t speak. Not yet, at least.” 

He almost said, “okay,” but he swallowed his words. 

Eliza took his hands in hers, and just like a second before, she smiled. 

“I read the letter you wrote to me.” She sighed. “I can’t say I know how hard this has been for you. I’m sorry for making it harder, but I needed that time to think about what to say to you. I never expected this.” 

Alexander nodded, his eyebrows pulled up, and his breathing speeding up. He held her hands in his and gave her a small smile. She took a breath, then continued. “I’m so sorry I’ve put you through this, Alexander. I wish I had seen what you were feeling, and I could have stopped all this madness from happening. If we never have gotten married, you could have been with Laurens so much sooner, but because I intervened, I walked right in your way.” 

Alexander wanted to protest and say it wasn’t her fault, it could never be her fault, but she didn’t let him speak. 

“I can’t imagine how hard it must be to live the life you’re living. And Laurens too. Alexander, of course, I want what’s best for you. Yes, I would have been a lot angrier, and much less forgiving if you said you fell in love with another woman, but the fact that you... well, that’s not at all your type, I can’t exactly get mad at you, can I?” She laughed, and so did Alexander. 

“Trust me, I would understand if you did,” he said. 

She pushed him lightly on the shoulder. A smile forming and a tear falling on both of their faces. “I’ll admit I was a little angry. But mostly, I didn’t know what to think. I was confused and frustrated, and disappointed, and sad, but I was also happy. Happy that you were willing to tell me the truth. Happy that you realized this before it was too late, and thought of me and my happiness so much it meant you had to do this. I still love you too, Alexander. And I’m so happy for you. And for Laurens. I love both of you. And, I forgive you. As long as you’ll forgive me too.” 

The tears fell freely from both of them now. Alexander let a choked sob fall from his lips, and Eliza pulled him into her arms. She cried into his shoulder. They held each other tight and didn’t feel like letting go ever. This was one of the best feelings Alexander had ever felt. The unrelenting love of someone he cared about so deeply. The forgiveness between two people who just weren’t meant for each other. 

“Of course, I forgive you, Eliza.” 

They stood in each other’s arms, crying without shame and without judgment. The sun set completely, and finally, they let each other go. Eliza sat on the bench, and Alexander sat next to her. She rested her head on his shoulder, and he leaned into her. They stared at the small number of stars in the sky. So few, yet so beautiful. 

“There was something else I wanted to say,” she said, lifting her head from his shoulder and twisting her body to face him. She placed a hand on his cheek and smiled. “When you were confessing everything to me, you said you wished you could change who you are. You wished you didn’t have these feelings, and you weren’t who you are. Listen, Alexander. I know you. I know you more than ever now. You are a confident and proud man, and sometimes those qualities get the best of you, but they’re lacking right now. You have to be more confident about this side of you. Never wish this wasn’t who you are. Yes, it’s hard to be this way and to like who you like, but you should never be ashamed. Take pride in this. Be proud of yourself. Although, don’t take too much pride because if any of the wrong people find out about this you’ll probably be killed. So, watch out for them, but you know what I mean.” 

Alexander wrapped her in his arms again, and then pulled away. “You’re too good for me, Eliza. Thank you.” 

She huffed. “Well, you’re right about that. It’s a good thing we ended this now, or else we would have been unhappy for a lot of other reasons.” 

Alexander laughed and so did she. 

“So,” she began. “How long have you been in love with Laurens? And I want an honest answer, don’t hold anything back, I can take it.” 

Alexander cocked his head, then grinned. “I was nineteen. It was the first day I met him, and I couldn’t take my eyes off him. I didn’t know it then, but that would have to be my answer. I couldn’t stop thinking about him, and I haven’t stopped since.” 

Eliza made a pouty face. “My God, Alexander. That’s a little too cute. So, and I won’t be mad... I think, no, I won’t be mad but have you two done anything together?” 

Alexander cringed. “I’m so sorry. I was planning on telling you before I let anything happen, but it all happened so fast. It was only a couple weeks ago, anyway, but we kissed.” 

Eliza raised her brows. “You kissed? Well, don’t lead up to it like that, then. Jesus Christ, I thought you two made love or something.” She grabbed Alexander’s hands. “Look at me, I’m not mad. I have accepted what you said, even though you cheated on me, you bastard, and now I’m fine.” 

“So, you forgive me?” 

Eliza rolled her eyes. “Yes, I forgive you. Now, one last thing because I’m very tired, and I want to go to sleep. I don’t think we should end our marriage.” 

Alexander’s eyes widened, and his mouth dried. “I don’t think you understand-” 

“No, Alexander, if you would let me speak, you would understand that I understand. It’s hard enough you’re going to pursue a relationship with Laurens, and try and get away with it, but also publicly ending our marriage? That just wouldn’t work.” 

“I see, so you’re saying-” 

“Would you shut up?” Eliza glared at Alexander, and he stopped. “Thank you. I think we should keep our marriage together, still live in the same house, but just be living together as... friends. That’s still a little hard to say, but I promise I’ll adjust. This way people would never think you were actually with Laurens if you were with me, and it wouldn’t be too suspicious you were hanging out a lot or doing what men do.” 

Alexander stifled a laugh. “Mmhmm, I agree completely.” 

Eliza rolled her eyes. “You know what? I give up. I’m going to sleep because I’ve said enough, and now you’re annoying me.” 

Alexander did not hold back his laughter anymore. “Aw, come on. I’m sorry, you can keep talking.” 

“Nope, goodbye. Sleep on the couch, asshole.” 

Eliza walked inside and shut the door. After a few minutes, Alexander went inside as well and found two blankets folded neatly on the couch, along with a pillow from their bedroom. He smiled. He walked over to the couch, turned the lights off, and set his “bed”. He curled under the covers and fell asleep with two thoughts on his mind. 

One, Eliza really was too good for him. And two, Eliza really was too good for him. 


	25. A. Hamilton

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ayo, can't believe I published two chapters in one day. Also, you might think at the end of this chapter the story is over, it is 100% not over. I am still writing, and I've still got things to do. No worries, y'all.

The Battle of Yorktown was won. Lafayette was back in France, and Laurens was in South Carolina. Alexander was back at his home with Eliza. Alexander and Eliza talked every day about Laurens, about Eliza, and about everything going on in their hometown. They tried to prepare themselves for whatever situation came their way, good and bad. Although, mostly bad. All of these scenarios were discussed upstate by the lake at Philip Schuyler’s home. Not only between Eliza and Alexander but Angelica and Peggy as well.

. . .

“Angelica, Peggy, Alexander and I need to tell you something.”

Eliza held Alexander’s hand. The sun rose behind them and across the lake where the four stood. Angelica and Peggy faced the sun, the lake, and Alexander and Eliza. Peggy, more than anyone, loved drama. Especially when it came to Eliza, the best, and least wicked of the three sisters. She knew Eliza would fall into some kind of trouble the second Eliza married Alexander. Angelica, however, was only curious. She and Peggy waited for the next words to come out of Eliza’s mouth.

“I should tell it,” Alexander said, receiving a nod from Eliza.

Angelica and Peggy waited for the next words to come out of Alexander’s mouth.

“It all started when I was nineteen-”

Eliza swiftly smacked Alexander on the back of his head. “That will take way too long. You’re horrible at summarizing.”

Alexander rubbed the back of his head but shrugged. “You’re right. You should tell it.”

Angelica and Peggy waited for the next words to come out of Eliza’s mouth.

Eliza continued to hold Alexander’s hand in hers as she did her best to summarize their current situation. “To put it simply, Alexander is in love with John Laurens, but because their relationship is illegal, Alexander and I are going to stay married to protect him from ever being found out as he pursues a relationship with Laurens. Also, Alexander and I are still going to live together, until Alexander finds a way to be with Laurens safely.”

Angelica was shocked. Peggy just kissed her teeth and shrugged.

“Oh, Xander,” Peggy said, sighing for a very long time. “You just had to have the dick, didn’t you?”

Eliza looked like she had choked, and Alexander looked like he was laughing. Most likely because he was.

He smirked. “Well, it’s Laurens we’re talking about. Are you surprised?”

Peggy giggled. “You have a point there.”

Angelica still hadn’t said a word. Peggy nudged her. “Hey, you gonna say something?”

Angelica blinked, then tried to find the right words. “Wow, I... don’t know what to say. Congratulations?”

Eliza and Alexander’s eyebrows raised. They couldn’t keep the humored smiles off their faces.

“Thank you, Angelica,” Alexander said.

Eliza bit her lip to stop from laughing. “Yeah, we have come a long way, but we’re proud to say we’ve made it this far. Thank you for all of your support, really.”

Angelica glared at them. “I take it back.”

Eliza pouted. “Why? We’re so thankful though. We love you, don’t worry about it.”

Peggy joined in. “Come on, Angie, don’t be sad. Some of us are better at thinking than others, and it’s okay to be on the lesser side.”

Angelica rolled her eyes. “Well, I did mean it anyway. That’s more than you can say, Peggy. Besides we have more important things to talk about. Eliza,” Angelica caught Eliza’s attention. “What do you two plan on doing when you fall in love with someone else, and want to get remarried?”

Eliza and Alexander turned to each other and scrunched their faces. Eliza spoke. “We have talked about that scenario, but we have not solved that scenario.”

Alexander nodded. “Well put, my dear.”

Angelica crossed her arms. “Okay, well as you said earlier, how is Alexander even supposed to be with Laurens when he’s in...”

“South Carolina,” Alexander said.

“Yes, South Carolina. How are you supposed to be with him if he’s so far away? Will you go to South Carolina, or will you wait for him here? Have you told him you confessed everything to Eliza? Do you know when he’s supposed to come back to New York? What will you do when he gets back and has no place to live except some random inn? Will he come to live with you two? Will you and Laurens get your own place together? And if you do, will you just live there, or to keep up with your charade with Eliza, will you switch every once in a while, from your new home with Laurens to your home with Eliza? Will you and Laurens get a place near Eliza? Or if you don’t will you just stay at an inn with Laurens? Will you live together at all? If you want to get married to him, how will you do that when you’re still married to Eliza? If you want to get married to him, how would you find someone willing to make that happen?” Angelica huffed. “I mean, how much have you thought this through?”

Eliza answered first. “Not as much as you have, apparently.”

Alexander laughed but shut down his amusement quickly. “We have asked each other all those questions and more. Most we have not found a solid answer to. We brainstorm idea after idea, but we can’t exactly know what we’ll do until the situation presents itself. So, we’re doing what we can and trying to find the best answer now, but there’s only so much we can do to prepare for those moments.”

Angelica’s expression stayed stern, but she nodded, then uncrossed her arms. “Well, I’m happy for you two. As long as that’s the right reaction, I’m happy you guys have worked through most of the issues at least between the two of you, and come out on the other side as friends. It must have been hard, but I’m proud of you. Both of you.”

“Thank you, Angelica,” Alexander said. He hugged her, then went back to Eliza. “It means a lot.”

Angelica smiled at him, then shifted her expression. “So, have you told Laurens about you and Eliza yet?”

Alexander sighed. “No, I have not.”

Eliza flipped around to Alexander and stared at him with her mouth open. “You haven’t told him? Why not?”

“I don’t know. I just wrote him a letter asking about the war, and what he was doing, and what I was doing, and then our conversation diverted, and I never thought to bring it up.”

Peggy scoffed. “There is no way that’s the reason.”

Alexander put his face in his hands for a second, then dropped his hands to his sides. “Everything would start if I told him, and I have no idea what that will look like. I backed out because it’s not like we could start anything anyway. Not until he comes back to New York. I didn’t see the point in telling him, but then making him only have a relationship with me through letters, and make it hurt more. And I don’t know what might happen to him there. Even after I tell him, we might never get to meet again. I didn’t want to give him something to look forward to, and then have it ripped away from him. Again.”

Angelica, Peggy, and Eliza glared at Alexander.

“You’re an idiot.” Peggy put her hands to her temples and rubbed.

Eliza nodded. “She’s right, Alexander. You have to tell him as soon as possible. If something bad happens to him, it would be so much worse that he would never know there was something to be happy about before he died or got kidnapped or anything. It might even give him something so good to look forward to that he survives whatever bad thing happens to him because he has you in New York waiting for him.”

Alexander pulled his eyebrows together. “You’re right. I should have thought about that. Could one of you get me some writing materials? I have a letter to write.”

Peggy took no time and immediately ran for the supplies. Which was very surprising considering she never does anything for anyone except herself. While she was gone, Angelica, Eliza, and Alexander thought of the best way to tell Laurens. Although, Alexander seemed to need to aid. Neither for the good news or for Eliza’s idea to write something uplifting and sweet for Laurens to read to cheer him up in South Carolina.

Peggy returned, and Alexander found a bench by the lake to sit and write.

_My Dear Laurens,_

_I write this letter to you in hopes you understand the depth of my love for you. You are far away from me, and the distance has caused a part of my heart to turn black. It will only receive the care of my body once more when I see you again._

_I understand the difficulty of the battlefield, but I have yet to experience it without you. I wonder how you feel now that I am not there by your side. I want you to know a change in my life that will most certainly affect you as much as it has affected me. I told Eliza of the undying passions I feel for you. While she valued a week's time to contemplate the magnitude of our relationship, she decided to accept both of us, and allow the progression of our attachment to continue. I hope you find this news as remarkable as I, and I yearn to see you soon._

_Before I finish this letter, I must tell you a secret. Many nights ago, when you inquired of the journal I wrote and the words in its keep, you must have not seen it, but there was another passage just underneath. I wrote it that night, which was also the fifth night of our friendship, in hopes I would show it to you someday, but ever-doubtful my dreams would come true. The only reason I have the ability to recite this letter for you now stems from my relentless fixation on you. I read over that letter every night after I wrote it simply because I couldn’t stop myself from toying with the image of reading those words out loud to you. While I cannot voice these past words for you now, I felt this was the opportune time for you to know them. If these words can take your mind off the war, even for a moment, I will have succeeded._

_Here it is,_

_Cold in my professions, warm in my friendships, I wish, my Dear Laurens, it might be in my power, by action rather than words to convince you that I love you. I shall only tell you that 'til you bade us Adieu, I hardly knew the value you had taught my heart to set upon you. Indeed, my friend, it was not well done. You know the opinion I entertain of mankind, and how much it is my desire to preserve myself free from particular attachments, and to keep my happiness independent of the caprice of others. You should not have taken advantage of my sensibility to steal into my affections without my consent. But as you have done it, and as we are generally indulgent to those we love, I shall not scruple to pardon the fraud you have committed, on condition that for my sake, if not for your own, you will always continue to merit the partiality, which you have artfully instilled into me._

_A. Hamilton_

After Alexander finished writing his letter to Laurens, the four went back inside Philip Schuyler’s home. Alexander had the letter sent the next morning. Eliza and Alexander stayed upstate for the next few days, but eventually, they returned home. At this second, Alexander sat outside with Eliza, on their bench. They talked of Alexander’s work and everything he planned to do for the politics of their growing country. Eliza left to check their mail since they had forgotten to when they first arrived home. Alexander waited.

The sun was covered with clouds. The sky was covered with clouds. They were heavy and dark. A brute’s color of pent-up emotions begging to boil to the surface. They did. The rain came down in sheets. Alexander was safe from the rain, but he moved closer inside anyway. He opened the door and entered. He met Eliza, and he smiled.

“Alexander, there’s a letter for you,” she said.

He was headed to the living room to read. He could wait. “It’s from Laurens, but I’ll read it later.”

She didn’t reflect an emotion Alexander could understand. “No, it’s from his father.”

Why did she sound so different?

“His father?” Alexander stepped closer to her, and he leaned against a chair by the door. “Will you read it for me?”

She opened the letter and held it in front of her. At the very moment she began to read, in France, Lafayette read the same letter. “On Tuesday the 27th, my son was killed in a gunfight against British troops retreating from South Carolina.”

Alexander felt his heart shrink. Cold air froze the blood in his body. He didn’t realize tears could form so quickly.

“The war was already over. As you know, John dreamed of emancipating and recruiting three-thousand men for the first all-black military regiment. His dream of freedom for these men dies with him.”

Alexander looked over his left shoulder. He didn’t know how, but there was Laurens. A faint glow surrounded him. He smiled at Alexander, then turned and faded into nothing. Alexander didn’t know what to do. At the same moment a million thoughts ran through his head, he felt nothing. He once felt lost at sea because of Laurens’ kiss, now he had lost the words to describe this feeling. He knew it could be called loneliness and pain, but they understated the poison that entered his bloodstream the second the letter was read to him.

He barely felt Eliza’s hand on him. He barely felt her voice as she said, “Alexander, are you alright?”

He turned to Eliza. He felt the hot tears run down his cheeks, but he didn’t care. He didn’t need help. He didn’t need to feel anything.

“I have so much work to do,” he said, then he walked into his study.

He sat at his desk. He grabbed papers and set them in front of him. He dipped the quill in ink. Black spots littered the clean, white paper. His hand was shaking. Clear splotched littered the clean, white paper. His eyes could not contain his grief like he said he could.

He clenched a fist around the quill, then he chucked it across the room. He took all the stationery and threw it off the desk. Clear droplets littered the dark, wooden desk. A boulder stuck in his throat. He wanted to scream and yell and tear at his skin and beat his hands on the desk until they were bloody and broken. He wanted to hurt himself. He wanted pain because somehow that would feel better than the emptiness inside him.

He held his fists in the air and brought them down on the desk with all the force he could muster. When he pulled them to his body, he saw dark bruises already formed, and blood seeping from small cuts on his knuckles. He continued to beat his hands against the desk until he broke them. And still, as the nerves sent the message to his brain he should be feeling pain right about now, he felt nothing.

“Why Laurens?” He covered his face with his bloodied hands, smearing crimson across his tear-stained cheeks. “How could this have happened?”

He fell off his chair and onto the ground. He knelt on the ground until he was too tired to kneel. He lied on the ground, and then he fell asleep. He hoped the night could take him away from this hell, but he knew nothing could. He had to be with Eliza now. He had to live his life, a liar to his true self. Without a good enough reason to constitute his dishonesty. He saw no point in continuing his work, and yet it was all he had left in this world. If Laurens was gone, he had to take Laurens’ dreams and make them his. He would live not only for himself but for the only person he truly loved as well.

What else was he supposed to do?

Laurens had been shot and killed by the British. From now on, until the end of time, the only story anyone could ever tell of Laurens’ life ended here. With Alexander closing himself off from everyone in his life, and Laurens taking all of Alexander’s love with him to the grave. 


	26. J. Laurens

It was barely a battle. 

A gun fired. He rode his horse, and now he fell. He landed in mud, courtesy of a summer’s rain. He still didn’t feel the bullet, and he wondered why. He felt his side. He pulled his hand away from where he suspected he was wounded and saw blood. Maybe this is what karma is. 

He peeled his soldier’s coat off his body, crushed it into what just might save him, and pressed it against the entry wound. He lied on his back staring at the sky. It was blue and only blue. He tried to sit up because what good would it do to stay lying down. Well, maybe it would if he had paid attention to the medics when they briefed the soldiers on what to do in these situations. Situations like slow-deaths. 

Despite any possible reasons to stay down, he sat up. He was the leader of his troops, so he had to keep fighting for them. The second he lifted his torso to an upright position, propping himself up with his right arm, he saw a man. A face he never wished to see again. Dirty blond ponytail, hooded, snake-like eyes, and a curled, hissing smile. Robert Grey. Robert Grey with a pistol in his hand, and a blue coat on his shoulders. 

For a moment they stared at each other. No movement, just the look of shared hatred in their eyes. Laurens lurched forward, but blood loss slowed his attack just a hair, which was enough for Grey to use the butt of his gun to strike Laurens’ head. Laurens was knocked out. 

Laurens woke up to the bouncing of his head, and the rhythm of horse hooves. He opened his eyes and saw the chest of the horse and its legs galloping. Grey had thrown him over the front of the horse, and Grey was just behind him. He planned to make his next move, but he realized his eyes couldn’t take the pressure of being open. He tried to  maneuver to a sitting position, but he felt a hand on his back pushing him down, then another blow to the head. 

The next time Laurens woke up all he saw was red. At first, he assumed he had died, and he must have been sent to hell. Then, the red moved. It became clear. Men in red. Men in red? Red coats. And one blue. He tried to lift his head, but it lolled to the side. Grey conversed with the redcoats. His smile was there. It always would be, even when Laurens closed his eyes. He started to drift to sleep, but he felt a sharp pain in his side. 

_Oh yeah. I’ve been shot._

He dropped his head down to peer at the wound. He realized his coat was missing, but there was some sort of bandage keeping his life afloat. It must have been Grey. He was at the redcoats’ camp, and Grey was talking to redcoats freely. They didn’t seem to want to kill him; they almost seemed friends. Grey was handed a bag full of coin. Laurens couldn’t tell how much, but he knew it was a hefty sum. Why? 

_For me. He’s trading me. He’s betraying his country for a bit of coin. And revenge._

Laurens didn’t want to, but he felt himself fading again. This time, without the need of a heavy object, he fell asleep. Only for a minute or two, though. He was awoken by a slap to the face. His eyes snapped open, and there was Grey bending down so his face was mere inches from Laurens. 

He leaned further so his nose brushed Laurens’ hair above his ear. “You should have thought twice before killing my brother.” 

Then, Grey left. But not Grey. Or, he was, but he wasn’t who Laurens thought he was. At the same time dread filled his gut, relief loosened his shoulders. Robert was still dead. A rainbow around every corner. Until another storm comes. 

A redcoat wielding a knife came up to Laurens and started cutting. He never realized he was tied up. Once he was free of his bonds, the redcoat pushed him on the ground. Gruffly, he said, “Stand up, colonist. The war might be over, but we can still find some use for you yet.” 

Laurens hoisted himself up using his hands to steady himself on the chair he was previously tied to. Another redcoat came behind him and tied his hands behind his back. Apparently, those binds were not supposed to be cut. One of the men put a firm hand on his shoulder and squeezed. Laurens walked forward. He was in a large tent, and now he was not. He didn’t realize it was already nighttime. The rest of the camp was small and poorly thrown together. Like Picasso had painted their living quarters, they just didn’t make sense. Unless, maybe, you looked at them sideways. Despite this chaos, everything was closely packed together. The soldiers outside of their tents hadn’t an ounce of positivity. They were crowned with a title none of them wanted. Losers. Eventually, Laurens had been walking for several hundred feet where he landed on an uncovered pit. It was wide and long and six-feet deep.

_ Good one.  _

Inside the community grave- surrounded by a few trees, leading into a forest- was people. Laurens assumed they were other prisoners, just like him. Of course, the British couldn’t accept their loss. They had to take a few good people down with them. Probably to feel better about themselves. Laurens didn’t care why those people were there because he knew they shouldn’t be. 

The redcoat guiding him shoved him into the hole. There were a few inches of mud at the bottom, which Laurens landed in. He fell onto his knees causing mud to splatter onto his face and the prisoners by him. The redcoat left, and now, including Laurens, there were six stuck inside an early grave. Excluding Laurens, there were four men and one woman. When he made eye contact with the men, they didn’t care to keep his stare. They looked beaten. Two of the men were older. Forties or fifties, probably, with silver-brown hair. One of them had pale skin, and seven to eight teeth. He crouched near a corner, far from Laurens, fiddling with the dirt on the wall. He was drawing. 

The other older man, with much longer, curlier, silver-brown hair, had dark skin. He had bright, white teeth, and a scowl that displayed them beautifully. He sat by the artist in the corner, glaring at Laurens for a moment, then turning back to what Laurens assumed was his friend. 

The third man was a teenager. Either a teenager or in his early twenties. Laurens must only be a few years older than him. Maybe five or six depending. The kid had sunken cheeks and sunken eyes. He was emaciated like a greyhound on a good day. The weather wasn’t cold, yet he seemed to shake. He looked at Laurens with curious eyes. Maybe he had a question in mind. If he did, Laurens wasn’t sure he’d ever hear it. 

The fourth man was a boy. While the kid before him, was only a kid because he was younger than Laurens, this kid was a kid because... he was. He couldn’t be more than twelve, and yet, he held a fury in his eyes contrasting so heavily between the three before him. His eyes were dark brown. Their color was soft, but their emotions ran deep. They reminded Laurens of Alexander. Especially because the kid held a piece of thin charcoal in his hand and a small, palm-sized journal and wrote. He wrote quickly and didn’t seem to take notice of Laurens. 

The last was no man. She seemed to be around Laurens’ age. Because of the lack of light provided, he noted her hair was long, and most likely blonde. Her eyes were jade green, and they gleamed like the gem their color belonged to. Oddly enough, she smiled. She smiled at Laurens, but it was less out of politeness, and more out of... acknowledgment. While the two older men sat in the forward, left corner of the pit, the teenager in the forward, right corner, and the kid a few feet to Laurens’ left, the woman was directly in front of him. She was the only one to hold his eye contact and not let go. Her clothes were men’s. Simple brown breeches, and a white undershirt with the sleeves cuffed to her elbows. She sat on her knees in the mud, mirroring his image. Or maybe she already sat like that before he arrived. Whatever it was, Laurens decided to move. He stood. She stood. Laurens didn’t know what to do, but first impressions matter so he held his hand out. She peered at his hand but did not lend hers. He dropped his hand. 

“I’m not one for shaking hands with dead men,” she said. 

Laurens raised a brow. “You’re English. Why would the redcoats take one of their own as prisoner?” 

She shrugged. “Not the type of English they like.” 

“What type is that?” 

“The type that openly protests against their orders.” 

“Yeah, they don’t like that.” 

“No, they don’t. So, what brought you here?” She led Laurens to the middle of the pit, and they sat on their knees again. Laurens could tell it was going to be hard to sleep tonight. 

He made sure to keep his hands on his lap. “Someone I met once decided I was worth betraying, so he shot me, and traded me to the redcoats.” 

She nodded with wide eyes. “You make lots of enemies, then?” 

Laurens smiled for a moment. “When you’re in this line of business, you don’t get to make a lot of friends.” 

She shrugged. “Long as you have a good one close to  ya , you don’t need anyone else.”

Laurens glanced at the sky, then focused back on her. “You’re right about that.” 

Laurens cleared his throat. “So, what’s your name? I’m La-” 

She held her hand up. “No names. Makes it harder to deal with the fact that everyone in this  pit’ll be dead in a week. We’ve learned to call each other by a part of ourselves that sticks out the most. You earn your name here.” 

Laurens furrowed his brows. It seemed like an odd tradition for people he assumed would want to feel like themselves as long as possible. Then again, she had a point. If you started to get too attached to each other, you might end up making it worse for everyone else if someone you like gets it bad. 

“You earn your name yet?” Laurens asked, feeling himself lean in. 

She smiled fully this time. “Yessir, I have. Those two geezers in the corner there were here first. They gave each other names when they came up with the idea, and they gave me mine when I arrived. I’m Riot.” 

“Riot?” 

“Well, I’m not exactly quiet or peaceful. Unless it’s toward people who deserve it, so yeah. And the oldies didn’t like me that much when I first came,” she grinned in the direction of the artist and snarler. “Now, they love me.” 

Laurens took a second to focus on each of the men before him. “What are their names?” 

Riot pointed first at the artist. “That’s Arty. He’s actually called Art, but I think it’s more fun to call him Arty. And I’m sure you can guess why that’s his name.” 

Next was bright teeth, no smile. 

“That’s shield. Every time the Brits try and snap at Arty or punish him for something, Shield always takes the punishment instead. Thing is, Arty’s a mute. So, they expect him to answer them, but he can’t. Got his tongue cut out a while back, and even though they were the ones that did it, they always seem to forget. Anyway,” she pointed at the greyhound. “That’s Relic. He got that name because we all thought he was a teenager at first, but he’s actually thirty years old. It’s a bit crazy, but we get past it.” 

She turned to Alexander. Or the boy who wrote in his journal. “That’s Paragraph. He’s smarter than any of us, and he keeps to himself mostly, but if you ever get him talking, he will never stop. Imagine the human form of the dictionary, and you’ve got this kid. Just too many words.” 

Laurens looked at Paragraph. Paragraph looked at him, then rolled his eyes, and went back to writing. He probably didn’t want Laurens to know that Riot’s description of him matched up perfectly. Laurens tried to keep the smile off his face, but it didn’t work. He faced Riot. “How long does it take to earn a name?” 

Riot shrugged. “Depends on the person. For instance, it took Arty and Shield no time at all because they came up with it, so they grabbed at the first thing and went with it. I came next, and when I told ‘ em all about myself, it took ‘ em ‘bout a day. Relic was next, and he didn’t take long either because he told us his age, and we just knew. Paragraph took the longest, and we almost called him...” Her eyebrows knit together, and she turned to Shield. “What did we almost call him?” 

Shield’s voice was like honey on a bass drum. He said, “Hawk.” 

Laurens didn’t usually feel intimidated by others, but Shield was a whole other type of human being. 

Riot nodded. “There we go. Hawk. That was because he just seemed to watch us. Like he was about to say something or about to move, and then nothing. Then, we got him talking for the first time, and found out Paragraph was a better name. His took five or six days, I think. So, it’s all up to you, darling. Just be yourself, and we’ll find you something good.” 

Laurens sighed. Well, if this was the situation he was in now, he might as well make the best of it. Or find a way the hell out of it. He became lost in his thoughts of possible escape until he felt a single tap on his shoulder. He looked to his right and saw the greyhound. 

Relic. 

He saw Relic. 

“Hello,” Relic said, sitting in the mud with his legs tucked to his chest, and his arms wrapped around him tightly. 

“Hey.” Laurens reached his hand out. Maybe Relic was okay shaking hands with dead men. “I’m... never mind. Nice to meet you, Relic.” 

Relic held his hand out and grasped Laurens’. He shook once, then pulled away. “You have any idea where we are?” 

Laurens’ mouth parted. His eyes flicked to Riot, but she just shook her head and kept her eyes down. “Uh, yeah, I do. We’re in South Carolina. We’re at a British camp. You didn’t know where we are?” 

Relic paused. He stared at the tip of Laurens’ nose and nowhere else. “No, we’re not. We’re in my home. Why are you in my house?” 

Laurens didn’t know what to do. Riot could tell, so she stepped in. She laced her fingers with Relic’s and led him back to his corner. She started whispering in his ear, and Relic smiled. She sat with him for a few moments before Relic found interest in the laces of his shoes. She went back to Laurens. 

“Relic’s a bit lost sometimes. He’s got it harder than any of us. First night he was here, the soldiers took a real liking to him.  Thought he looked  kinda pretty, and even though they always denied it, we knew exactly what they did to him. Then, next time they tried it they got caught, so they blamed it on poor Relic. Stopped feeding him, so we had to give him our portions, and instead of once a week, they beat him every night. It’s back to once a week now, but he hasn’t been the same for a while.”

Laurens lost his breath. He took another look at Relic as he tied, then untied his shoes, over and over again until he fell asleep with his fingers caught in the laces. He tried to bring his attention back to Riot, but he couldn’t take his eyes off Relic. His appearance begged the story of a young, but tired man. Hungry without a spark of life in him. Laurens couldn’t stand to look at him, but couldn’t tear his eyes away. After a while, Laurens felt the only way Relic could be free was through death. He couldn’t imagine Relic ever finding happiness even if he escaped. How could he if he was never in his own world? The mind of a child that should never have been sent to war. 

Riot snapped her fingers in front of Laurens’ face. She threw him back into reality. “You alright, love?” 

Such a simple question, yet Laurens had no idea how to respond. Should he be honest or should he lie? “Yeah, I’m alright.” 

A liar, then. 

Riot hummed. “You should get some sleep. They’re  gonna put you to work tomorrow.”

Laurens nodded. Riot walked over to Relic’s corner leaned into him and closed her eyes. The spectacle was like a mother and son. He glanced at Shield and Arty. They were asleep already, and so was Paragraph. Laurens found his own corner and closed his eyes. He thought of Alexander. He played memories of them until he fell asleep. And only minutes after he drifted off, was he awoken by a splash of cold water. He shot up, and the first sight his eyes registered was feet. He looked further up and saw a redcoat with a lantern and an empty bucket of water. He heard movements behind him signifying everyone else was awake now too. 

“Huh,” Riot mumbled. “Forgot it was Sunday night.” 

Laurens kept his eyes locked with the redcoat, but asked Riot a question. “What happens on Sunday nights?” 

“They question each of us.” 

With the menacing smile on the redcoat’s face, he knew that wasn’t all. 

“And?” 

“And when we don’t tell ‘ em anything because we can’t even give ‘ em the answers if we wanted to,” Riot placed a delicate hand on Laurens’ shoulder. “They make us bleed, and then they play a little game.” 


	27. J. Laurens

“Not him.”

“Again? You keep taking hits for that mute, and soon enough you won’t be there to cover for him.”

Shield took a step forward. Arty’s body was no longer in the redcoat’s line of sight as he peered down in their grave. Shield held the redcoat’s stare with his.

“Not him.”

The redcoat shrugged his shoulders then threw a thick rope into the hole. He held one end, along with another redcoat appearing behind him. “Climb up,” he said.

Shield was the first to grab the rope. He held tight with his hands and lifted his legs to push against the slick, mud wall. The soldiers above grunted as they tried to keep their position while Shield hoisted himself out of the hole. Shield reached the top and stood. A soldier walked behind him with rope in his hands. He tied Shield’s wrists together. Laurens wondered if those bonds were strong enough to hold Shield. Laurens’ attention was drawn out of the haze when the next person to grab the rope was Paragraph.

The boy’s medium-toned skin appeared much darker under the dirt and grime he lived in. His small fingers gripped the rope tightly, and he lifted himself to the top in half the time it took Shield. He looked like a spider crawling on a ceiling, and once he stood next to shield with his wrists tied, he was a hawk perched on a tree. Laurens turned to see Riot holding Relic in her arms. He knew she couldn’t lift Relic herself, so he strode over to her.

“It’s nothing I can’t handle,” She said, throwing Relic’s arm over her shoulder.

Laurens stared into her narrowed eyes. “Don’t worry about it. I’m not doing this for you or him.” Laurens put an arm between Riot and Relic and around Relic’s back.

Riot huffed. “Whatcha doing it for then?”

Relic smiled at Laurens and looped his arms around Laurens’ neck. Laurens grabbed the rope with both hands and hoped Relic wouldn’t choke him as he climbed. Laurens glanced at Riot, then offered her a grin. “Need the workout.”

Laurens’ last image of Riot before he reached the top was a pair of hands on her hips, a cocked head, rolled eyes, and the hint of a smile at the corner of her lips. When he reached the top, Relic was pulled away from him and placed by Shield and Paragraph. Exactly where Laurens stood a second later.

As a redcoat bound Laurens’ wrists together, Laurens craned his neck to scan the camp behind him. The redcoat didn’t notice Laurens’ face inches away from him, as he kept his mind on his task. Laurens saw the bunched together tents, lit only by candles, lanterns, and a fire or two. The scene looked different from before even though he had only been in the grave for a few hours. His senses could barely handle the stimulants before him. It was so much more than mud and mud-covered people. He didn’t know how to feel.

“Hang in there.” Riot nudged Laurens’ shoulder. His eyes met hers, and he knew the sight of her pale, a-storm-is-coming, green eyes would be the last piece of beauty he would see in a while.

He was pushed. He walked with Riot on his right, Relic on his left, and Paragraph and Shield further down. Arty was safe from harm in the grave, and Laurens wondered for a moment what safety felt like. If it was real, and if he could ever have it again. Or if he ever had it. Laurens kept his eyes on the scene in front of him. He sucked in each characteristic of the camp. He didn’t want to forget a single detail. A redcoat walked in front of them, stopped, and stared into Riot’s eyes. A small frown dragged his features, then he walked into a tent. Riot kept her head down after that. Until, they crossed a couple hundred feet, and arrived at a group of thick oak trees. They almost seemed hell-sent, as they were lined up in a row with small metal hooks jutting out on the trees. There were six trees, and the metal hook was perfect for hanging bound hands for a person of all different heights. Each of them was sent to a tree with a hook that would keep their toes on the ground, but not their heels. A redcoat lifted their hands and hooked them on the curved metal. Laurens had Riot to his right and Paragraph to his left. His eyes stained Paragraph longer than Riot. He couldn’t stop himself. He saw a young Alexander, and he heard Riot’s words from earlier.

_And when we don’t tell ‘em anything because we can’t even give ‘em the answers if we wanted to... They make us bleed, and then they play a little game._

_Play a little game? What does that mean?_

Laurens pushed his rambling thoughts down when a redcoat without a red coat walked up to Laurens.

“Fresh meat,” he said. He held a small knife in his hands. Laurens didn’t have time to register his words before the knifepoint pierced the flesh of his cheek. Laurens winced. The tip of the blade cut down from his cheekbone to his jaw. The blood trickled out the thin opening and onto the knife. Laurens inhaled slowly. He wasn’t planning on showing this warped brain a shred of weakness.

The soldier chuckled, then glimpsed at Laurens’ side. He noticed the small bulge of bandaging. He lifted Laurens’ shirt and pressed his fingertips into the gauze. Laurens kept his appearance steady despite the sharp twinge of pain in his side as the man pressed further. He peeled the bandage off slightly to see a set of stitching over the bullet hole. Whoever healed him had put in a lot more effort than Laurens expected. The man put the bandage back on. Laurens furrowed his brows and flexed his stomach. He thought the man would undo the healer’s work, but he left it alone. He took a step back.

“The rest of you are already acquainted with me, but I shall state my title for the newcomer.” His soulless eyes captured Laurens’. “You will call me General. I am the man who will ask the questions, and you will give the answers. If you do not answer, I will make your life hard. Do right by me, and you will be free. I will not hurt you. But if you resist or lie or try anything against me, I will punish you.”

Laurens swallowed. His eyes held strong with the General.

“Let us begin,” he said. His gaze passed Laurens and found Shield. His boots pressed into the mud beneath him as he stalked his prey. The small, thin blade still found company in his hands. He leaned into Shield’s ear and whispered a question too quiet for Laurens to hear. Shield shook his head and the General rewarded his negation with a pierced hand. He ripped the blade out of Shield’s palm and moved on. Shield clenched his jaw but made no other sign he had been affected. Next was Riot. The General’s move was the same just as Riot answered the same as Shield. She clenched her teeth in response and sucked in a sharp breath. Laurens was next. He clenched his body to prepare for the knife. The General leaned in and his lips were a centimeter from Laurens’ ear. He wasn’t sure what the General would ask of Laurens, but he already knew his answer would not differ from Riot and Shield.

So, when the General said, “If you tell me who caused the British to lose, I will set you free. Tell me now.”

Laurens’s head moved in small fractions from left to right. The General did not approve of his answer. Laurens anticipated a hole through his hand in retribution, but the General held the knife to Laurens’ wrist facing outward. The cold metal brought a chill to the blood pumping through Laurens’ veins. Its point pricked his wrist then sliced horizontally. Instead of ending on one side of his wrist, the knife traveled to his other and painted a matching portrait. His breathing was shallow, and even shallower when the blood trickled down his underarms pulled by gravity to the edges of his collarbone and into his armpits. The knife stopped and flew elsewhere. To Paragraph, then Relic.

No one cried out. No whimpers, no groans, no tears. Just an adjustment to the pain they must have grown accustomed to, and what Laurens soon would. The most sickening reminder during their interrogation was how unaware someone can be, or, more accurately, how selfish someone can be when they choose not to care for other people's lives.

The corpses were aided by a redcoat assisting the General to be stripped of their shirts and turned to face the tree with their wrists pinned to the metal hook once more. Still, the camp was mostly silent. There were a few soldiers who could not sleep and more who did not want to sleep. Whatever light source they chose created a soft, orange glow brightening the dark leaves of the forest. A shred of warmth in a cold wood. Empty and lifeless. Laurens couldn’t help but wonder what the other soldiers were doing. They had to know of the prisoners, and they must also know the prisoners were kept for no reason other than entertainment. How could anyone know who caused the downfall of the British? Why would the General ask that question to such an odd group of people?

_Desperation. He’s desperate. But why us? Why a mute artist, a protector, a protestor, a childlike soldier, and a child? Why me? What could the General hope to gain from us? There must be a reason we were kept instead of killed immediately. It doesn’t make sense if this is all for entertainment because there’s no way we can answer his question. Unless there’s something similar about all of us that he thinks he sees, and something none of us knows._

Laurens didn’t realize his conspiring thoughts dragged him away from a reality he should prepare for. Although, he didn’t know how.

The General had taken their shirts and turned their backs to him for one reason. “The real fun is starting,” he said.

There was no need to turn around when the cause of “real fun” was blatantly obvious. Laurens closed his eyes and could already see the whip in the General’s hand. He could picture their fate perfectly, but he knew the pain a whip, especially a barbed whip, could deliver, and he knew what he would have to hear next.

Not only his screams but the screams, the gasping for air, sucking in breaths, the shrieks of the comrades he found in a grave. He had known them for several hours now, and yet he strained to think of what he would have to see them go through. He knew the Sunday nights were a regular for them, and he had no idea how many of those nights they had to bear through. Especially for Relic, who had many more than just weekly visits from sadistic redcoats, it was too much for Laurens to imagine when he knew there was a solution. The solution was so clear it could have been a tangible plan he could hold in his fingers. Laurens would not have had this epiphany if it wasn’t for Shield. The moniker of a protector, body, and soul, but a purpose he had worn too long. Laurens knew what he had to do.

The General held the barbed whip in his right hand. He approached Relic and displayed no emotion on his face. Laurens thought it was more unsettling to see a smile before delivering pain on another, but on this night with this man, Laurens’ stomach plummeted at the sight.

“Stop,” he said, his voice an inch above a whisper.

The General, with his arm raised to strike, paused. His lips parted slightly, and he tried to register the word Laurens had uttered. “What did you just say?”

Laurens didn’t raise his volume. “Stop.”

The General walked over to Laurens, his boots creating a shlick sound as they passed through the thin layer of mud. Once he reached Laurens, he halted in place. He faced Laurens’ back and held the whip to his side. “Why should I?”

The eyes of the others were planted on Laurens. They were just as curious as the General, but they also felt the same absence of solidity in their gut that Laurens experienced earlier. Laurens sighed. “Because I’m not going to let you hurt them.”

The redcoat assisting the General laughed outwardly, but the General held his hand up to shush him. The redcoat stifled his inappropriate chortling with a hand over his mouth and straightening his posture. The General stared at the back of Laurens’ head with his eyebrows trying to meet each other in the middle.

“How are you going to do that?”

Laurens exhaled slowly, then opened his eyes. “I’m going to take their punishment.”

The General’s fingers clenched the handle of the whip tighter. “You would sacrifice yourself for four, no, five prisoners that you just met?”

Laurens glanced at Riot for a second, and saw her mouth the words, “No, please don’t.”

He looked away. “Yes, I would.”

The General gestured to his assistant and waved him over to his side.

“Take the prisoners away. But not him,” he said. He took a step closer to Laurens and Laurens felt the General’s breath against the back of his neck. “The soldier who would die for his country, and the savior who would die for a couple of strangers. You may think you are some angel sent to save these people, but you are not. You will only be hurt in the end, and you will get nothing in return.”

He grabbed his assistant’s arm as he turned to leave with the unbound prisoners. Instead of speaking to the redcoat, he faced his victims. “In fact, isn’t that something all of you do? Give each other nicknames that have no real purpose other than taking another piece of your humanity away? Well then, I have a suggestion for you. Look at this rescuer so determined to save your skin.”

The General didn’t need to give them this command because their eyes were already glued to Laurens. More than anything else, they were shocked. A man they had met only hours before decided their lives were worth saving. And they didn’t want his help at all.

Riot interrupted the General’s speech to try and reach Laurens in his mode of rescuer. “You don’t have to do this. We’ve been taking his beatings for a long time now, and we don’t want anyone to sacrifice themselves for us. You’ve got a bloody gunshot wound. You don’t need more, we’ll be fine.”

The General let them continue their hopeful persuasion. He, too, wanted to see if they could convince an angel to strive from God’s plan.

Shield spoke. “I take double the beating for Art. You don’t understand what it means to double what he already does to us. You won’t survive if you decide to take the hits for all of us.”

Paragraph stayed quiet. He bore a glare through Laurens’ head hot enough to dissolve all matter inside. He was seething, but he didn’t say a word.

Laurens swallowed a breath. He opened his mouth and everyone waited for his answer.

“You guys are selfish,” he said. “Don’t think I’m doing this all for you.”

Riot took a step forward, bumping her shoulder with the assistant. “Well then, why? Why would you do this when you don’t even know us?”

Laurens laughed. A soft and shadowed sound. “Need the workout, ya know?”

The next person to make a noise was the General. “You see, Riot?” He said _Riot_ as if her name was rotted food in his mouth. “This soldier is no soldier at all. He’s an angel sent from God to do his good deed and save all of you from my wrath.”

The General draped the whip over Laurens’ shoulder and slid it down his back.

“Isn’t that right, Angel?” He turned around and met his assistant’s stone gaze. “Take them away.”

The assistant began to shove Riot, Relic, Shield, and Paragraph toward their sleeping quarters. Laurens and the General waited until they were out of sight. In no second at all, a sharp crack exploded on Laurens’ back. His mind told him to cry out, but he gritted his teeth and only drew in a breath to keep him steady. Steady and conscious.

“Do you know what I’m going to do to you?” The General wielded his whip and slashed against Laurens’ back once more. “Do you understand what it means to take what I do to every prisoner and multiply that by five?”

Laurens didn’t reply.

Another slash.

Tears stung Laurens’ eyes. He didn’t make a sound.

“It means we’ll be here all night, and all morning until I become too tired to hurt you anymore. At least for this week.”

The General reared his killing hand back and Laurens closed his eyes. He waited. Yet nothing came. He didn’t want to follow the urge, but he did. He craned his neck to peer at the General. Instead of seeing only the General, a taller man stood behind the General with a hand on his shoulder.

“This man is not to be hurt,” he said.

Laurens’ mouth went dry.

The General’s mouth opened to protest, but the man behind him tightened the grip on his shoulder.

“He is of value to us, and he is not to be harmed. Unlike the other prisoners, who for unknown reasons are not present at this moment, he will not be your plaything. Release him now, and I will escort him to a medic. While I do this, you will return the other prisoners to this area, and you will follow my previous orders for them.”

The General let his whip-hand drop to his side. “Sir, this prisoner offered to take the pain for the rest. We allow this for the other prisoner, in place of the mute, so why do we not allow this for him?”

“Because soldier,” The man removed his hand from the General’s shoulder. “He is of real use to us. And I don’t plan to have him killed unless my plans for him do not pan out. So, for now, he is under my protection, and out of your grasp.”

The General, who Laurens now concluded was no General at all, nodded and dropped the whip to the ground. He approached Laurens and his fingers looped around the rope at his wrists drawing them out of the hook’s hold. Laurens’s hands fell in front of him bouncing against his hips. The taller, higher-powered man giving orders to the General, stood in front of Laurens and tilted his head to the side sending a clear message he wanted Laurens to follow him. It was odd the man trusted Laurens enough to follow without straying, but Laurens had no plan of escape, so he did as he was told. The General parted ways, and Laurens remembered the second order the General was given.

_You will return the other prisoners to this area, and you will follow my previous orders for them._

All Laurens had done was for nothing. He tried to protect people who had already gone through too much pain, and yet his sacrifice was meaningless. He hadn’t saved them, and worse he gave them false hope. Now he was sent to a medic for his minimal wounds when he knew the others would have no special attention. He hated being special. He hated being favored over the other prisoners. The other people. He didn’t deserve this, and they didn’t deserve what was about to happen to them.

_And it’s all my fault._

The man guided Laurens to the medic, then left him there. The medic was a large woman with loose, curly brown hair in a tight bun and tanned skin. Darker than a tan a Brit would get. She wasn’t English. That much Laurens could see, but he couldn’t detect any other distinguishing details belonging to another country or people. He decided to spark a conversation.

“Where are you from?” He asked as she tended to the bleeding at his cheek, wrists, and back.

She kept her voice quiet. “I’m from Spain.”

From her three-word response, he knew he had entered a one-sided conversation.

“How did you end up as a medic for the redcoats if you're from Spain?”

She prepared her medical supplies to stitch his wounds while she answered. “They don’t keep all the prisoners in the hole you’re stuck in.”

Laurens drew his eyes to the woman. She trapped his gaze, then looked away quickly. For the moment her eyes met his, he saw a deep sadness. The redcoats used her like they used the rest of them. And probably for more than medical assistance.

“I’m sorry,” Laurens said, fiddling his fingers. A large fraction of his attention was stolen when he heard screams. Screams, cries, pleading, and silence. The General had begun, and Laurens wished he could cover his ears. Both Laurens and the Spanish woman were distracted, but not for long. At least not her. She was used to it by now.

“Don’t apologize.” She began stitching the deep slashes on his back first. “Pity isn’t what I need.”

Laurens gritted his teeth as she worked the ruin the General left on his body. “So, what do you need?”

She took a breath but did not stray from focus. “What any caged bird needs.”

Laurens’s brows knitted together as he waited for her to finish.

“An open door.”

Laurens stared into her eyes, but she did not look back at him. “How will you find it?”

She smirked. “Well, I need a key to open a door, don’t I?”

“Yeah, and?”

She looked into his eyes, and they did not waver. “I just found one.”

. . .

Laurens returned to the grave and dropped in. The mud had dried courtesy of a lack of rain, so dust rose when he landed. The medic had escorted him this time, then left, though this did not mean he was alone. He rose to his feet and scanned the crowd before him. Shield had blood seeping through the sleeves of his shirt, in a striped pattern. He bared his teeth and Laurens noticed one was missing. He lied by Arty, who did his best to heal his friend.

Riot had visible wounds like Relic, yet she tended to him and resisted his care whenever he offered. She insisted she was fine, and she did so with a confident smile. She presented the same smile to Laurens when he took a step closer to her with hands ready as aid. He left her to Relic and found himself alone. Then, he spun on the balls of his feet to his left. He saw Paragraph. Huddled into himself with his eyes open and studying the stars in the sky. Laurens walked over.

“I don’t want your help,” Paragraph said, keeping his eyes on the ebony sky.

Laurens was a foot away from Paragraph and crouched down. He furrowed his brows. “Why not?”

Paragraph glared upward, clenching his jaw. “Because I’m not some charity case. I don’t need you to save me, and I don’t need you to help me. Do me a favor and leave me alone. It would be better for both of us if you didn’t try to talk to me.”

Laurens huffed. “I don’t think of you as a charity case. Besides, I wasn’t trying to save you. I was just trying to show the General he couldn’t push me around.”

Paragraph scoffed. “Yeah, was that because you needed the workout?”

Laurens raised a brow and his lips parted to pronounce his excuses, but Paragraph gave him no chance.

“You’re just another dead body rotting in this pit. We live our own lives, and we don’t need anyone to protect us. It never does any good anyway.” Paragraph pulled his journal out and began to write. “Stop living for other people. You’ll only kill yourself in the process and make it worse for everyone else. In conclusion, go back to Riot and have a nice little conversation about names or something else that doesn’t mean anything.”

Laurens knew a “fuck-off” when he heard one, so he returned to his corner. He sat and waited for Paragraph to fall asleep before approaching Riot, the only other person awake. She sat a few feet from Relic, who lied on the ground with two black eyes and a busted lip. Any other wounds, Laurens assumed he would never see.

Riot perked up when Laurens came to sit by her. She tilted her head up, then back down to greet him. He noticed her hand still bled from the gash the General created. Laurens grabbed at the hem of his shirt and tore. Riot watched him as he wrapped her hand in his make-shift bandage. Once he tied it and put his hands in his lap, she smiled.

“You don’t have to worry about us this much,” she said.

Laurens sighed. “I know. But I can’t help it. I’ve never been able to see people go through this kind, or any kind of pain, and not want to step in.”

They didn’t speak for a moment until Riot opened her mouth. “We’re not gonna call you Angel, so no worries about that. The General is a sick man. It’s unfortunate what happened to you. To everyone.”

Laurens stopped her. “Actually, I don’t mind the name. If you, as some sort of name-giver, would allow it. I want to be called Angel.”

“Why?”

“Because I want to show the General that no matter what he does or says, it will never have the effect he wants it to. Besides, Angel is a pretty flattering name.”

Riot rolled her eyes and shoved Laurens to the side with her shoulder. “You’re a strange one.”

Laurens smirked. “I’m a strange one, what?”

“Ah, fuck off, Angel. Don’t let it get to your head.”

“Too late.” Laurens snickered. He dealt with the smack Riot delivered to the back of his head with ease. They quieted down and his eyes drifted back to Paragraph. The sleeping child held a looseness in his expression he never possessed while he was awake. His chest expanded and deflated as fast as the seasons change. Laurens cocked his head.

“Riot?”

“Yeah?”

“What’s Paragraph’s story? Why is he against people helping him?”

Riot bit her lip. “To be honest, I don’t know. I mean, everyone else has been pretty upfront about how they got here. I protested a little too loud and got myself dragged into too many dangerous situations. Relic was sent to fight against the redcoats and got caught, same with Arty and Shield. But Paragraph? None of us know how a twelve-year-old kid got sent here. Scares me to think about why they would have put him in a hole like this. What could this kid have done to end up here? Or, if I’m asking the right questions, what kinda shitty situation did this kid end up in for them to think he was worth taking prisoner?” 


	28. Paragraph

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm honestly so excited I get to share part of Paragraph's story with y'all. I just think it's cool, and I'm so happy with how this story is going. Thanks for everyone who had made it this far. I really appreciate you guys.

The street was busy and hot. The heavy air stifled your breathing and left you gasping. Masses of compacted flesh moved from store to store, bar to bar, park to park. They filled the thick gravel line like sheep in a herd. If a dog came barking or growling, would they listen to its orders and do as the dog pleased? The kid knew they would. He understood what humans would do when an intimidating enough figure gave orders. People were simple. Predictable, boring, and so easy to trick. The kid, but better known as “Hey, Kid,” by his older brother, crouched on an angled roof. He scanned the crowd beneath his folded wings. He craned his neck to the left to focus on an alleyway. The midday light did not reach this passage. It was skinny and, frankly, the perfect size for him. He stood up, then flew from the roof, down into the alley. The second he landed; a hand gravitated to his shoulder. The kid did not need to face who grasped him. He already knew who held him the second they made contact.

“What are you teaching me today?” The kid asked, facing the steaming, claustrophobia-inducing street several feet past the alley’s slim opening.

“Manners might be a good start.”

The kid flipped around to face the one-foot-taller, ten-year-older, deeper-tanned, darker-haired, one-black-eyed, fool of a man before him. His brother, Jean. Like every day the kid saw Jean, his tightly-curled hair was in four French braids, the ends of his hair grazing the nape of his neck, his clothes wrinkleless and clean, despite living on the streets, and a perfect, pearl-white smile. Only one corner of his lips raised as if it took too much work to just smile completely.

 _What an idiot_ , the kid thought, glaring at Jean.

Jean grabbed the kid’s chin with one hand and lifted it so the kid’s face was diagonal to Jean’s, then he pushed him away. “Try this: hey, Jean, how are you? I’m so happy to see you today. Similar to all other wonderful days I spend with you, you have taught me valuable lessons I will use later on in my life. So, with my boundless excitement and appreciation, what will you teach me today?”

The kid rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. He wished for an apathetic expression, but it would not appear. Nothing but a struggling smile, and taut brows. “You know I won’t say that.”

Jean wrapped an arm around the kid’s shoulders. “Ah, don’t worry, kid. I’ll teach you anyway. Before we start, though, I gotta little something for you.”

The kid paused. “What is it?”

Jean put his hand in his back pocket and pulled out a small journal. Jean smiled. “Found this and thought you might like it. You always got so many things to say, so I thought you might want to write... something. To be honest, I’m not sure what people use things like these for, but I thought you could find out.”

The kid ripped the journal from Jean’s hand. He held it between his hands, and kept his features expressionless. “Of course, I can find a use for it. But, thanks. I, um... I like it.”

Jean raised a brow. “Wow, you don’t have to struggle to compliment my gift, ya know.”

The kid scrunched his face. “Well, it’s not like you just found this anyway. You probably saw it in some store, then stole it. Why should I thank you for a gift you didn’t pay for?”

Jean narrowed his eyes at the kid. Only for a moment, though, because his customary grin broke through in seconds. He scratched the back of his neck. “Alright, you caught me. You still like it though, right?”

“Yeah, whatever, I already said that.”

Jean raised his arms to stretch. He yawned. “Ah, good, then. I knew you would. Now, let’s get to learnin’.”

As the kid put the journal into his pants pocket, his pent-up excitement seeped through his skin. He loved the lessons his brother taught him each week. Every Sunday, Jean would begin a new lesson, and they would spend seven days ingraining that skill or thought or whatever new piece of information it was into him.

Today, unlike some other days, was Monday. Today was a new lesson. Today was more knowledge. Today was growth. The kid was ready.

“So, what are you teaching me today?”

Jean smirked and ruffled his younger brother’s hair. “Today, you will learn how to use silence as a tool. Right now, you use silence as a whim. If you want to be quiet, you’re quiet. If you want to talk, you talk. When gathering information from someone, you need to learn when to hold your tongue, and when to let it run.”

The kid opened his mouth to speak, but he chose silence instead. He prided himself on being a quick learner. He hated making mistakes and, more so, he hated giving his brother ammunition to use against him.

Jean noticed the kid’s immediate correction, and he smiled. “Good. Now, I’m going to show you a place I like to go. I have a meeting with some of my... coworkers. I’ll let you tag along and watch from behind the scenes so you can see how we communicate with each other. Don’t focus on what we’re talking about, focus on how we say what we do to communicate each point. Our body language, and most importantly, when one of us is silent, when we aren’t, and why. Got it?”

The kid nodded.

Jean put his hands on his hips and stared into the kid’s eyes. “Got it?”

The kid huffed. “Understood, sir.”

Jean hummed. “That’s more like it.”

They stood at the edge of the alley until Jean pushed the kid into the swarm of bodies. The kid was lost in the crowd. Jean wrapped his fingers around the shirt of the kid’s collar and pulled him along. He let go once he determined the kid would be able to follow without his helping hand. They slipped through the masses with ease. Jean, as unique as his hair and his skin-color were, blended with the crowd as if he was just as pale and ponytailed as the rest of them. In a previous lesson, the kid learned how Jean acquired this skill. All he had to do was analyze the outer image a person presents, then analyze what they find most pleasing in another person. The kid had a basic understanding of this principle, and while he practiced it well enough, he couldn’t compare himself to Jean unless he wanted to be utterly embarrassed. The kid could admit he didn’t like the idea of eternal humiliation.

Despite the constant reminder, thanks to Jean, of his lesser-being, he strived to become better than Jean at every turn. Therefore, as Jean navigated through the crowd and cut through every obstacle, the kid made sure he never lost Jean. He wanted to prove he did not need his brother’s help in something as simple as slipping through a large group of people. Jean was easy enough to track anyway considering his out-of-the-box hairstyle, and darker skin than most. Not to mention the black eye.

As the kid followed Jean, they squirmed through the human maze and found Jean’s destination. Jean stopped in front of a rundown motel with so few occupants it should have been thrown out of business. The kid arrived by Jean’s side and clasped his hands behind him. He gazed at the short and stocky building. The architecture reminded him of a man Jean had introduced to the kid once. It was a few months ago, and the small, overweight, sniffling, balding, twenty-year-old had never left his mind since. He always had a look of suspicion in his eyes. Always directed at the kid, too. Never made any sense why, but the kid opted to ignore him until rundown-motel-man decided to punch Jean in the face. He, of course, had to stand on a bench in the process to reach Jean’s dagger-like jaw. The kid could have sworn the cut on motel-man's knuckles was caused by Jean’s slicing features. Although, he earned a lot more than bloody knuckles after he thought it was a good idea to punch Jean.

The kid shook his head to rid himself of the memory and focused only on the motel. Jean leaned down to whisper in his ear. “This building remind you of that one kid I fought a while back?” The kid needn’t look at Jean’s face to pick up on the wide smile he displayed.

“You mean the kid who was two years younger than you?”

Jean crossed his arms. “You sure? I thought he was like fourteen, fifteen.”

“You probably thought that because you have poor observational skills.”

“Do I? I didn’t notice.”

The kid rolled his eyes. “Are we gonna start this lesson of yours or not?”

Jean slapped his brother’s back, then stood up straight. He scanned the surrounding area and pinpointed a few passersby, but no one seemed to pay any attention to them. Jean took the seconds of privacy and utilized them to drag the kid to the thin, back-pressed-against-the-wall space to the left of the motel, and the right of a bar. Two steps were leading down to a small opening into the motel. Small enough for indiscretion, and big enough for Jean and the kid to crawl through. Jean forced the kid to go first, and when the kid opened his eyes for the first time inside the motel, he saw a whole lotta dust and a whole lotta nothing else.

Jean squeezed in behind the kid, then shut the entrance. He pushed past the kid and walked into the middle of the cramped room. Maybe a storage closet or something? The kid wasn’t sure. But if it was a storage closet, the space would have been used. They were in a four-walled, seven-foot-tall room with nothing but cobwebs, dirt and dead skin floating into their lungs. The kid reared back to sneeze, but Jean pinched his nose before a sound other than a soft “pff” could leave the kid’s mouth.

“Silence, remember?” Jean said, taking a step forward while glancing above him. The kid nodded, then followed Jean’s gaze. There was another opening. Smaller than the last, and only big enough for the kid.

 _Dammit, Jean_.

“Ready, kid?” Jean held his hands in front of him, as a proposition for a grab-and-hoist-and-stuff-into-a-stupidly-small-vent-thing-that-no-one-wants-to-find-out-what’s-inside. Yay.

“I’m assuming I’ll have to wait inside there, so I can watch you and whoever you’re meeting up with?”

Jean smirked. “Sounds like you don’t need any help, kid. No point in confirming with me if you already know the answer.”

The kid mumbled under his breath, “It’s not like you didn’t do that earlier, when you gave me my gift.”

Jean raised his brows. “Got something to say to me?”

The kid ignored Jean but complied with his outstretched arms in place of words. In a swift clench of Jean’s hands, and lift of his arms, the kid was holed inside his watchtower. There was no door to hide the kid’s presence, which is why the heavy cloak of dust and cobwebs was a useful setting. No light reached inside the lofty tunnel, so darkness was also on the kid’s side. He just had to be silent.

Jean kept his mouth shut as minutes passed. Eventually, the opening Jean and the kid had used earlier creaked, and a stream of light illuminated Jean. One man crawled through, then a woman. They landed with heavy feet, causing a whirlwind of dust to craze the still air. A bit of dust was sucked into the kid’s nostrils when he inhaled softly, and he had to stifle a sneeze from blowing his cover. His attempt was successful. When the dust settled, the kid kept his eyes on the body language of the two people he did not recognize and his brother. The man was large with dark skin, a good five or six shades darker than Jean’s medium, skin tone. The last trait the kid noticed was the man’s short hair, which was drastically different from Jean’s or the kid’s. Or the woman. The woman’s hair was pulled into a low-bun, and she was large like the man, but her heavier weight was not caused by rippling muscle. She had tanned skin, which ended up being the lightest of the three. Or the four, if the kid was included.

The careful picking through each of their appearances, however, was not the kid’s goal. He had a much more important mission. Read their silences.

First, Jean spoke. His arms were loose at his sides. His posture was straight, but not tight. When words left his lips, his eyes were relaxed, but his brows were serious. His head leaned slightly forward, and when he stopped speaking, the emotions held in his features did not drop.

Second, was the man. His voice was low. His arms were crossed, and his posture was also straight. But his was tight. There wasn’t a relaxed bone in this man’s body. His voice was curt, and he spoke in short sentences. He gave needed information only, never anything extra. He used his silence faster than Jean. When he did not speak his eyes flashed to the woman. He was telling her to speak, or he assumed she would take on that role without any help and he was preparing.

When she spoke, she was the most relaxed of them all. She had an odd air clinging to her skin like the haze in your head when you wake up after a nightmare. She felt like a puzzle, and her words did not differ from this assumption. She spoke in riddles, and despite the obvious confusion the kid felt, Jean and the other man needed no clarification. When she closed her mouth, her expression followed a more serious path. She listened intently, hanging on each of the words the other two shared. She was odd.

The kid spent most of his time focusing on how they spoke, and how they used their silences, so he barely caught onto the content of their conversation. Small phrases like “have to trap them,” “between us,” “they’ll never know,” and the most alarming, “total annihilation” were all that caught his attention.

After an hour or so, the man, the woman, and Jean all fell silent. The kid did not understand why until the outsiders whispered something in Jean’s ear, then left the way they came in. The kid didn’t wait for Jean to usher him down. He pushed himself out of his station and landed softly on the balls of his feet.

“So?” Jean asked, turning to face the kid.

“So, what?” The kid crossed his arms. “Ask me a real question and I’ll give you a real answer.”

Jean dropped his head for a moment, smiling at the ground, then drew his gaze back to the kid. “Come on, kid. Aren’t you a little old for questions? I thought you could handle all this by yourself. You tell me what I want to know, and I’ll tell you if you’re right.”

The kid scoffed and waved his arms out of each other’s grasp. “How the hell am I supposed to know what you want? You barely told me anything before this!”

Jean smirked, then took a step forward. He lifted his hand then rested it on the kid’s head. He leaned down, then grasped tighter on the kid’s hair while shaking him back and forth. “You telling me you forgot everything I taught you about inferring unspoken thoughts or concepts? Thought you were smarter than that. At least, that’s what you keep telling me. So, why don’t you use that big brain of yours, to prove you know just as much as you say? It’s all about context, kid. Take what I’ve said, and contemplate my meaning. I’ve got a lot of it, you know.”

The kid huffed but ran over everything Jean had said in the past hours since they met up in the alleyway. He analyzed, and thought, then overthought, and dug deeper and deeper, until he knew exactly how to please Jean’s idiotic, teacher-mode.

“Alright, you wanted me to learn-”

A small creak from behind the kid interrupted his words. Jean held his hand up, and the kid watched his brother’s eyes widen substantially. Jean waved his brother to his side, then pushed the kid behind him. Keeping his body facing the door the kid had only noticed until now, Jean grasped the kid and began to hoist him up to the small entrance above them. Before the kid could make sense of what was happening, the door burst open. And who walked through the door?

Five soldiers in red coats.

Guns drawn.

The kid’s breath caught in his throat. He was almost through the door, but a single redcoat aimed his pistol at the kid. “Set him down, now.”

Jean slowly dropped the kid to the ground, keeping him out of the line of fire. Jean’s demeanor was alarmed, but he veiled his worries with a simple correction of his eyes and mouth. He propped his hands on his waist and gave their newfound enemies a soft smile.

“What’s wrong, officers? Have I done something bad?”

The kid refrained from his normal eye-roll, considering he was not nearly as good as Jean when it came to masking his true feelings. His panic was a bit more obvious. Another thing for Jean to use against him after he got them out of this... situation.

One soldier stepped forward; the barrel of his gun much closer than anyone innocent would like. Jean didn’t seem to have a problem. “That a no, then?”

The soldier broke his silence. “Don’t act innocent, traitor. Although, I shouldn’t expect anything less from a French bastard.”

“Ooh,” Jean said, holding a previously raised hand to his heart. “You cut me deep, Captain. But I gotta ask... what did a traitor like me do to deserve such a name?”

The soldier, officer, captain, whatever he was, scowled. “You’ve been putting your dirty hands into places where they don’t belong, and scheming against the good law of the English. We know what you’ve done, and you know how much we’ll make you pay for it. Come with us, and we won’t hurt your brother.”

Jean’s eyebrows raised. “My brother? You’ve been watching me, then. Little creepy, I gotta admit, but I understand. A job’s gotta get done.” Jean turned around, with his arms raised, and locked eyes with the kid. “My goodbye’ll be quick, I promise.”

The soldier took a step back and lowered his gun. The four others mimicked him like brainwashed puppets. Although, calling a puppet “brainwashed” might be a little redundant. The kid let go of these thoughts quickly when Jean grabbed his arms and turned him so they were face to face. Jean crouched, keeping their sides to the redcoats. The smirk overwhelming with misfit confidence never left Jean’s face.

The kid’s eyes trained on Jean and never left. He knew what Jean was doing, but he didn’t think he would go through with it. At least, he hoped he wouldn’t.

Jean’s hands left the kid’s shoulders. He lifted one, then placed it on the kid’s head. “Seems you’re gonna be on your own from now on. Nothing to worry about though. You gotta good head on your shoulders.” Jean ruffled the kid’s hair, then let his hand fall to his side. His smile never faltered, but the kid could see past those warm, reassuring eyes into the heart of Jean. His brother, who was a moment away from gone.

“How am I-” The kid stopped. Jean didn’t want to hear his wailing. His worries. His constant anxieties. Jean wanted to hear the kid say he would be okay. That he knew he would be alright on his own. The kid would say whatever he needed to. He had to be strong.

Jean, crouched so he matched the kid’s height, felt a small hand on his head. The kid ruffled his brother’s hair, then grinned. “How am I supposed to not worry when I know you’ll be all by yourself? I know I’ll be fine, but you? You’ve always needed me to help you along the way. I’ve got nothing but worries for you.”

Jean’s lip trembled, and his eyes were glassy. He dropped his head and laughed. He stood up, placed his hands on his hips, then turned to the redcoats. He lifted his hands together, proposing they tie him just like he knew they would, then he took a final glance at the kid. The kid watched a single tear fall down Jean’s cheek. A cheek plump, thanks to the ear-to-ear smile on Jean’s face. “Thanks, kid. You’re the world to me. Know that.”

The kid refused to mirror Jean’s image at this moment. He couldn’t cry. He wouldn’t. He watched as a redcoat pulled rope out of his back pocket, and bound Jean’s hands behind him. Jean kept smiling. The redcoat held Jean’s bonds in his hands, canceling Jean’s movement as the superior officer turned to the kid and said, “Kill the boy.”

Jean’s smile dropped in an instant as a redcoat pulled his gun. The barrel pointed at the kid, and he had no idea what to do. For all Jean’s training, the kid had never prepared for this moment. He had never prepared for his death. The kid froze, and as he did, he knew this fault would get him killed. In truth, he had killed himself. He flinched when he heard the gunshot, and his eyes shut. He waited for a bullet to rip through his body, but instead, he felt a solid force on his left shoulder that sent him flying to the ground. He opened his eyes and patted his body quickly. Nothing happened. But something happened. He just couldn’t figure out what it was. He turned to Jean, who stood bound by the redcoat. Except he wasn’t. The kid scanned the small, dusty room, and found his brother on the ground next to him. Jean’s face directed toward him. His eyes were open, and his smile was still there. The kid returned the smile until he studied Jean further. His eyes flashed from Jean’s mouth to his neck, then to his chest. There, where no injury should have been, was a hole. Small, and pin-pointed perfectly at Jean’s heart. From this hole, was blood. Miles of it. Seeping through Jean’s clothes, and painting the floor.

The kid jumped into action and sat on his knees in front of his brother. He grasped Jean’s collar and lifted him into a sitting position. Jean’s legs splayed in front of him, and his hands still tied behind him. The kid shook his brother.

“Jean, Jean!” He held Jean’s face an inch away from his. The stupid smile as close as it’s ever been. “Jean, come on! Get up, it’s alright. You’re alright.”

The kid heard rustling, no, arguing, behind him, but he ignored it. That wasn’t his problem. At least, not yet.

“Jean, please, get up! It’s not hard, I’ll help you, just help me out here. You’re going to be fine. Just get up.” The kid put Jean’s arm around his shoulders and tried to hoist him up. Jean pushed his brother away, which sent him back to the ground. Jean leaned his head against the bare wall.

“Hey, kid. What have I told you about lying?” The corners of Jean’s lips raised, but a bloodied cough erupted from his chest, erasing his nonchalant nature. Jean ignored the interference and smiled. “You and I know what’s happening to me. Don’t try and think any different. It’ll only hurt you.”

The kid kneeled in front of Jean once more and held his face in his hands momentarily. “I don’t care about that! Come on, you can get up, I know you can!”

Jean’s breathing slowed, and his eyelashes fluttered. He didn’t have more than a minute left. With his last will and testament, he lifted his hand and placed it on the kid’s head. He ruffled his hair, then let his arm drop to his side. “Sorry I dragged you into all my shit, kid. You can go ahead and blame me if you want. I can take it.” Jean laughed, then continued. He glanced at the redcoats who stood panicked. He turned his eyes away, then stared into his younger brother’s eyes. “You can take anything they throw at you, kid. I know it. You’re stronger than I ever was. Prove ‘em you’re better than me, won’t you?”

The kid’s eyes stung. He put his fists to his eyes, trying to stop a flow of tears he knew was coming, but he had no control over his emotions. He pulled his hands from his eyes to reveal shimmering droplets. His chest shook as a sob broke through his exterior. He didn’t want this.

“I-” The kid dropped his head. He sniffled and adjusted his words. “Okay, Jean.” He willed a smile on his face. “No problem.”

Jean’s smile was pure. The kid gave Jean the last shred of joy he would ever feel. He gave it to Jean. And he knew he would never see it again.

Jean took a shaky breath, then said, “And if you ever feel like missing me, go ahead and do that. Just know I’ll be thinking the same.”

“No, please. Please, don’t leave me.”

The kid’s pleading did nothing.

The light in Jean’s eyes faded to gray. The kid grabbed Jean’s shoulders and felt them loosen in his hands. Jean slumped to the side, and his eyes peered into the kid’s, unblinking. Jean was dead.

The kid put a hand on Jean’s eyes and shut them. Then, he shoved his head into his brother’s stilled chest and cried. His tears soaked the scarlet, linen shirt. He stayed there with his brother. He would have stayed longer, but a pair of arms wrapped around his torso and threw him to his feet. He remembered resisting. He remembered fighting back, tears still running, and fists flying. He remembered yelling. Yelling at the redcoats. Yelling at the world. Then, he remembered exhaustion. He remembered a horse, a field, rain on his shoulders and his head, and a camp. He remembered voices arguing like before. Phrases like, “maybe he’ll know something,” “if he was there when his brother was meeting the others, then he must be in on it,” “that bastard probably told him everything”.

The kid couldn’t care about any of it. Maybe he tried to, but he couldn’t. The next thing he remembered was a pit. A grave, more like. And people. He wouldn’t have paid any attention to the five until he took a good look at one of the women. Among the others, she looked familiar. It only took him a second to realize who sat next to him in the pit. It was the woman from earlier. The one his brother met with. Immediately, he turned away from her. He knew she wouldn’t recognize him, but that didn’t matter. It felt like he shouldn’t be talking to her. Like Jean was keeping him away from her. Like he thought he should have.

Instead, the kid watched the others. A blond woman with curious, and intense green eyes, two silver-brown-haired men, one much darker and intimidating than the other, and a trembling man, maybe thirty or so despite his looks. The blond woman approached him first and tried to talk. The kid did not respond. This excruciating routine repeated for five or six days of the kid ignoring the woman with the idiotic moniker of “Riot” until the kid had enough. Only because Riot, the she-devil, decided it was okay to call the kid, “kid”. He couldn’t allow that. Only one person could call him that, and that person was dead. So, the second his pent-up anger burst through the surface, he, of course, received a name just as dumb as theirs. Paragraph. Paragraph, along with Riot, Shield, Art, Relic, and the woman he avoided without fail, Riddle.

Although, as much as these people annoyed him, he couldn’t deny the fact he kind of liked having a name. It’s not like Jean had ever called him by his real name. Just “Kid”. It had been that way since the kid could remember, which meant he never knew his real name. And now he had one. He wasn’t just a kid anymore, he was Paragraph. Maybe it’s a little insulting, but he knew Jean would have liked it.

After a few weeks of reluctantly opening up to the rest of the resurrected dead, Riddle disappeared, and a week later a soldier replaced her. Paragraph didn’t know what to make of him at first until Sunday night came, and the “Angel” decided to sacrifice himself for everyone. Now, Paragraph knew what to think of him. He hated him. And he hated Angel more when he thought it would be okay to approach him, and try and help him out or something. He didn’t need help. This guy was a complete moron. Despite his flaws, everyone seemed to love Angel. Even Shield warmed up to him eventually. Everyone laughed and talked, and found rays of sunshine in Angel’s presence. They were all so happy, and their blatant disregard for the situation they were stuck in disgusted Paragraph.

_I mean, it might have been a bit mean to snap at him like I did that night, but it’s not like I regret it. People who think they need to save others should get what they deserve. Angel deserved it. Jean would agree with me. Well, no, he wouldn’t, but it doesn’t matter. Jean isn’t here, so why should I care what he thinks. I’m going to hate Angel, and that’s the end of it. It doesn’t matter what he does._

Paragraph did his best to avoid Angel after that night, but Angel had different plans, of course. Because no one seems to understand personal space. A long enough stretch of days had passed for Angel to continue to annoy Paragraph with his questions and concerns and little, humanitarian gestures. It was noon Saturday, and still, Angel couldn’t seem to leave Paragraph alone. They did what they were ordered to, which consisted of gathering firewood under the watchful eyes of the redcoats, and even then, Angel never shut his mouth.

“After a lot of thinking, I’ve concluded that you don’t like me that much,” Angel said, sticks and various pieces of wood in his arms. “Would I be right?”

Paragraph groaned, but never let his focus drift from the task at hand. “Yeah.”

Angel hummed. “Alright, why is that?”

Paragraph held kindling in his arms and added to it doing his best to satisfy Angel whilst ignoring him. “I already told you that. You shouldn’t ask questions you already know the answer to.”

“Good point. So, you hate me because I tried to save you and the rest of them from the General. You don’t like it when people try to help you because you don’t need anyone else’s help, which makes you hate me the most. After all, I didn’t just try to save you, I tried to save everyone which probably would have killed me. But I don’t think you’re mad that my plan didn’t work because you never said anything about that before. This one I’m not sure about, so could you help me out?”

Paragraph rolled his eyes. “I’m not mad about that, no. Just about what I already told you.” He stopped working for a moment and stared at Angel. Angel continued to gather firewood, but he held eye contact with Paragraph.

Angel squinted his eyes. “So, you don’t like me because I put others before myself even if that costs me my life. Look, I want there to be peace between us, but I’m not sure how to make that happen since your problem with me is something I won’t fix.”

Paragraph sighed and opened his mouth to answer when a redcoat interrupted their conversation. He held the same barbed whip the General used in his hands, and a huffing, puffing dragon look on his face.

“Get back to work!” He yelled. He approached Paragraph and raised his whip-hand. Paragraph turned his back to the man and covered his face. He was ready. He heard the crack of the whip, and a stifled groan, but he didn’t feel anything, and he knew he didn’t make a sound. He opened his eyes and twisted to see Angel with his back to the redcoat, and his arms outstretched around Paragraph. He protected him.

Paragraph took a step back, his eyes wide. “You idiot! If you wanted to get on my good side, that wasn’t the way to do it. You should have let me take it; I would have been fine!”

The redcoat had his own look of horror on his face. His mouth was open like a fish out of water. “I-I wasn’t supposed to hurt you. The General will kill me for this.”

Angel smiled and turned around. He spoke to Paragraph while staring at the redcoat. “Sorry, kid. Couldn’t help it.”

Paragraph bristled at the use of his old title, and the poor excuse for an apology. He didn’t have much time to be angry because the redcoat rushed to Angel’s side causing Paragraph to take another step back.

“You have to go to the medic immediately. The General can’t see what I’ve done,” the redcoat said, desperation pulling at his brows.

Angel didn’t move. “I’ll go to the medic as long as you promise not to hurt him.”

The redcoat scoffed. “I don’t have to listen to you. I’ll do what I want.”

Angel crossed his arms. “Really? Okay, I won’t go to the medic then, and I’ll make sure the next time I see the General I’ll flash this lovely scar in front of him and tell him who held the whip.”

The redcoat paled, then grimaced. “Fine. I won’t touch this precious kid of yours. Just get to the medic, now.”

Angel turned to Paragraph and flashed a smile, then walked off to the medic. He didn’t seem to care a slash the size of Paragraph’s entire arm cut through his back and bled into his shirt. Why didn’t he care? Paragraph pushed the thought away, but another burst through his head.

Angel had saved him from the redcoat and saved him from any possible harm the redcoat was planning after he left.

_Why does he care so much about me?_

Paragraph rid himself of this thought as well and went back to work. He didn’t have time to wonder about Angel’s motivations. Angel was a thoughtless idiot, who was dumb enough to care about everyone else’s safety except for his. He was too nice and too reckless. It wouldn’t get him anywhere except an early grave.

Once Paragraph was done with his work, he was escorted back to the pit. When he looked down, he saw one man. One man who wasn’t working like the rest. Angel. Just sitting in the dirt with his back leaned against the wall across from Paragraph. Paragraph jumped into the pit and landed on his feet. Dust clouded the air by Paragraph’s feet, then floated back to the ground. Paragraph approached Angel, earning himself a lopsided smile from his enemy.

“Come to check on me?” Angel asked, tilting his head to the side.

Paragraph cleared his throat. “No, I just got done with my work. Try thinking.”

Angel chuckled and held his hands up in surrender. “Sorry, didn’t mean to offend you. I was just wondering why you decided to come near me instead of avoiding me like you always do.”

Paragraph opened his mouth, then closed it. Angel finally said something smart, and Paragraph didn’t know how to answer him. “I- uh, thought you might want to finish that talk from earlier since we got interrupted.”

Angel nodded. “Thanks for thinking of my well-being then. Even if it’s not my physical health, I still appreciate it. So, now that I’ve messed up more, how can I get on your good side?”

Paragraph crossed his arms and pondered. He decided to sit down to provide a little comfort for his thought process. Considering he didn’t care for Angel, he might as well make the redeeming task unreachable.

Paragraph took in a slow breath, then exhaled. “I know what you can do for me.”

Angel crossed his arms, wincing as he pulled at the stitches on his back. “What is it?”

“I want you to help me, and since you’re always in such an everyone-else-but-me mood, you and the others too, to escape this place.”

_There we go. Now he can’t do anything._

“Okay,” Angel said.

Paragraph furrowed his brows and glared at Angel. “What do you mean, “okay”?”

Angel shrugged his shoulders. “I mean, okay. I’ll help everyone escape, including you and me. You said you’ll forgive me for everything I’ve done to make you mad if I can do this, right?”

“...right.”

“Alright, yeah. So, I’ll do it. No problem.”

Paragraph struggled to find the words until he didn’t. “So, you’ll just fix everything and get all of us out of here? As if it's that easy? How can you be so confident?”

Angel smirked, then leaned forward and gestured with his hand that Paragraph should lean in as well.

“Because I’ve already got a plan to get us out of here.”

Paragraph fell silent.

 _Dammit, Angel_ , he thought. _Now, I’ll really have to forgive you_. 


	29. J. Laurens

“What did she look like?”

Laurens had finished describing the entirety of his escape plan to Paragraph, and now all Paragraph wanted to know was what the medic looked like.

Laurens raised a brow but began to describe her. “Uh, she had skin like mine, but she was kind of heavy-set. She’s got dark brown hair that’s always pulled into a bun.”

Paragraph’s glare never strayed from Laurens. It wasn’t menacing, just suspicious. Like Paragraph was studying for a test or solving a puzzle.

“How did she talk to you? Did she sound weird when she talked?”

Laurens’s lips parted to protest until he realized “weird” was a perfect assessment of the Spanish woman. “Yeah, she did sound weird. Almost like she was talking in-”

“Riddles,” Paragraph said, cutting off Laurens. His eyes widened, and he stroked his chin with his hand. “I know who the medic is.”

Laurens shrugged his shoulders. “I’m pretty sure we both do...”

Paragraph’s jaw went slack as he glared at Laurens with malice, this time. “Are you a complete idiot? Of course, you know who she is in a way, but I know exactly who she is.”

A corner of Laurens’ mouth curled upward. “I know. Just seeing if I could get under your skin.”

Paragraph rolled his eyes. “Ugh, anyway, the medic’s name is Riddle. She used to be another prisoner in this pit, but a week before you came, she disappeared. All of us thought they killed her, but she’s been alive this whole time as their medic. They probably saw her healing us, and thought they needed someone like her.”

Laurens puffed a breath from his lungs. “Huh. I mean, when I talked to her, she did say something about not all prisoners being kept in the pit, but I never expected her to mean she used to be in there with you guys.” Laurens shifted his gaze from his hands to Paragraph. “How you feeling?”

Paragraph narrowed his eyes and cleared his throat. “I’m fine. I’m just a little surprised.”

“Okay,” Laurens said, staring up at the sky for a moment as the sun began to lower itself toward the horizon. “We should tell the others when they get back.”

Paragraph nodded. “Yeah, you should.”

“What? You don’t want to tell them with me?”

“No, I do not. It’s not like I need to. I told you how I know Riddle, which is also how they would know her. There’s nothing more to tell that you can’t do yourself.”

Laurens gathered gravel in his palms and sifted through to roll pebbles between his fingers. “I see what you mean. If I forget something, you’ll help me, though, right?”

Paragraph pushed himself off the ground with his hands and peered down at Laurens. “Yeah, whatever. I wouldn’t be surprised if I had to help you, considering how easily you seem to lose all logic and sense the second you open your mouth. Now, leave me alone.”

Laurens chuckled, then held a hand to his forehead and drew it down in a mock salute. Paragraph turned on his heels and sat in an opposing corner from Laurens. He pulled his journal out and began to write. Laurens continued to fiddle with the small rocks he’d collected for a while until footsteps sounded above the pit. Laurens whipped his head up right as Arty and Shield dropped in front of him. Laurens nodded once at them, earning a smile from Arty and a reciprocated lift-of-a-chin from Shield. They migrated to the right of Laurens. Both kept to each other most of the time unless Riot or Relic showed up. This shift occured only a few minutes later. Laurens's eyes were attracted to a basket inside Riot’s hands after she dropped down. Relic stood behind her, knowing the second everyone saw what was inside of the basket, they would be crowded immediately.

“Looky here, boys!” Riot called the attention of everyone as her hand unveiled what lay beneath a thin white cloth inside the basket. It was bread. Bread and what looked like cheese. It was food.

Laurens jumped at the sight and rushed over to Riot. She put a hand out in front of her effectively stopping the herd. “Now, now, you guys. You can’t just run me over like that. I’ll take care of ya, no issues. Just sit your butts down wherever you please, and I’ll bring over a fair portion.”

Shield gently pulled Arty back to their corner, and Paragraph returned to his as well. Laurens only needed to take a few steps back to find his seat. Once he sat down, he noticed Relic carried something in his hands as well. A bucket. Laurens remembered Relic coming down on a rope instead of jumping down, but he just assumed he did so out of fear. Instead of fear, was thoughtfulness and care for the water inside the bucket. Enough water for all of them. Laurens's fingers gripped his pants at his knees as he waited for his serving. His hunger and thirst hadn’t been satisfied for a couple of days, except for the blessing of rain, and a few scraps from working for the redcoats as they ate. He could barely contain his excitement. Relic and Riot walked to Arty and Shield first. Arty drank from the bucket and took a handful of bread in one hand and a few pieces of cheese in the other. Laurens had never felt more jealous of a man until now. After a few moments, Relic and Riot moved to Paragraph and gave him a similar portion. Fair. Just like Riot promised. Laurens watched Paragraph scarf down his food, only for Riot to set her hand on Paragraph’s. She stared at him for a moment, then smiled. Paragraph lowered his head, and despite his scowl, he slowed his eating and savored each bite.

Laurens knew where they headed now. It felt like miles as their feet moved one past the other to reach Laurens. Once they arrived, Relic offered him water, which Laurens swallowed carefully making sure no drop escaped him. Riot handed him his bread and cheese, and he began to eat. He ate as slowly as possible so his hunger would be fulfilled for longer, but he found nothing was ever so impossible. His stomach gurgled and churned the second he took his first bite. It wanted him to consume the food in one chomp, but he couldn’t. He had to resist the temptation or else he would regret it. Once he finished, he took a glimpse at Riot and Relic who shared the last bit of bread, cheese, and water with each other. In a matter of minutes, it was gone. Laurens wished he was satisfied, but the food was not enough. No amount of food he conjured through imagination seemed like it would be enough. He wished to swim in a pool of beef stew with a loaf of bread the size of his body to float on. He wished for grapes the size of his palm, and a glass of wine big enough to climb into. Steaming shepherd’s pie, the size of the grave he lied in. And even this, did not sound like enough. His cravings were interrupted by a nudge against his shoulder. He looked up and his eyes met Paragraph’s. Paragraph raised a brow, then tilted his head in the direction of the others.

“Huh?” Laurens muttered. He glanced at the rest of the grave’s people until his memory slapped him on the back of the head. He shot up to stand next to Paragraph. “Oh, yeah, alright. It’s time, I guess.”

Paragraph groaned but uttered no words. At least none Laurens could hear. Laurens stood in the middle of the grave and scanned what little he could see outside of the pit to watch for anyone nearby. There were no soldiers within earshot, so he cleared his throat, calling the attention of Riot, Relic, Shield, and Arty.

“If you could come to the middle, it’d probably be safer.”

“Safer for what?” Shield asked, a speculative squint in his eyes.

Laurens crossed his arms. “Well, I’ve got something important to tell all of you, but it wouldn’t be safe for me to speak loudly.”

Shield made no sign he understood what Laurens had said until he tapped Arty on the shoulder and brought him to the wall nearest to the forest and furthest from the camp. Laurens sat down, which prompted Arty and Shield to sit down next to him. Paragraph followed, and so did Riot and Relic. Laurens was the only person to sit directly in the middle. His back faced the camp, and he glanced behind him for a moment to check for onlookers before he felt comfortable enough to begin speaking again.

“So,” Laurens felt a little uneasy under the stares of his... acquaintances? But he took a breath, and all was well. “Basically, I know a way to get us all out of this shithole because a medic I met promoted the idea, well, a solid idea to get us out. And I brought this up to Graph earlier and found out the medic that helped me was someone you all know. Riddle or R- no, I think it’s just Riddle.”

Paragraph chimed in. “Yeah, he told me everything earlier. He was talking about Riddle. I don’t doubt it.”

Laurens scanned the faces of the newly-informed. He expected shock, but only Relic held this expression.

Riot spoke first. “Well, I don’t doubt the kid. Aha, “Graph,” as you said, but, uh- I'm not so sure about an escape plan. Even if Riddle’s alive, I don’t see how that changes the possibility of a successful plan much.” Her eyes flickered to Relic, Arty, and Shield before they turned back to Laurens. “But you sound pretty confident, so why don’t you tell me the specifics of this plan and we’ll think about it.”

Laurens exchanged a glance with Paragraph before speaking. “Well, the plan was never my idea. I thought about escaping the second I came here, but nothing good hit me until I met the medic, or, uh, Riddle. She was... interesting. And she knew what to do the second I arrived after I tried to help you guys from the General before the real once came and told me I wasn’t supposed to be harmed. When we first talked, she didn’t say much. She stayed one-sided, until I asked her about being a prisoner, then apologized, and then she said she didn’t need pity, she needed something else. When I asked her what she needed that’s when she got a little puzzling.”

. . .

She took a breath but did not stray from focus. “What any caged bird needs.”

Laurens’s brows knitted together as he waited for her to finish.

“An open door.”

Laurens stared into her eyes, but she did not look back at him. “How will you find it?”

She smirked. “Well, I need a key to open a door, don’t I?”

“Yeah, and?”

She looked into Laurens’ eyes and did not waver. “I just found one.”

Laurens cocked an eyebrow. “Uh, okay? How am I a key?”

She mimicked Laurens’ bewildered expression, then giggled and returned her features to their natural state of haughty assurance.

“I’m sure you know what a key does.”

“Yeah, we already covered that.”

“You understand, then.”

“We didn’t cover that.”

She hummed a three-note tune Laurens didn’t recognize. “I have spent a lot of time in this tent. No time out, just here.”

Laurens was lost. She tried to help.

“You can reach the other prisoners. I can’t. So, you are my key. If I want to escape, no good would be felt by me if I abandoned other people who are in my same position. Worse position, actually.”

Laurens nodded. “I understand now.”

She smiled. “Good, now I already have a plan, I just don’t know when it will happen. The thing is, the English will be moving soon. A week’s time I believe, so we need to be ready. The area, I know, so when we’re moving to the next camp we’ll sleep once. Before that, I’ll give something to the soldiers, and make it harder for them to open their eyes. Then, because they trust me, at least a little, I’ll come to you and the others and untie you and we’ll escape. The guards will be no problem. I can take care of them too. I just need you to tell the others about this, so I can help them and we can go together. I know a place not far from where we will be then, so I get you and take all of you there. We won’t stay there because the English will find out we are gone and come after us. They need us for something that I don’t know for sure yet, so that is a problem.”

She paused to check that Laurens was understanding. Despite his almost complete lack of understanding, he nodded again. “Makes perfect sense.”

She laughed, then moved to the rest of his injuries to tend to them as well. Laurens grunted. While her plan seemed convoluted and flawed, he could tell she had put in a lot of thought into her plan. She was confusing and weird, and those traits negatively affected the way she spoke, but behind the tumbling mass of words, there was confidence. Laurens couldn’t escape the redcoat’s camp without help, and she was the best he would find. He had to trust her judgment.

_God, let her be right. Please let this plan work._

. . .

Riot put her face in her hands and groaned. When she pulled her hands away, clenched brows and a tentative smile were revealed. “I guess that’s my mistake in thinking I was gonna get a logical plan outta Riddle. She sounds sure, but that doesn’t make the plan good just because she thinks it’s good.”

Laurens found her thoughts affirmed by Shield, Arty, and the mostly distracted, Relic. Paragraph’s expression didn’t stray much from theirs.

“Look,” Laurens said, leaning back on his hands. “I know it doesn’t sound very good, but she’s always around the redcoats. She hears everything they say, and not just the soldiers, but the generals too. And that’s not the only time I’ve been able to talk to her.”

Their heads lifted. Shield’s eyes bored into Laurens. “When, and what did you speak of?”

Laurens blinked. “Well, earlier today.” Laurens noticed Paragraph staring at him in the corner of his eye. “When I talked to her the first time, she said she would need to see me again, so I had to find a way to get back to her without raising suspicion.”

Paragraph scoffed under his breath. Laurens faced Paragraph, who did his best to eye the ground only until he felt Laurens’ gaze on him. Laurens continued. “I had to get a redcoat to strike me in some way, even though all of them had been ordered to not touch me. I got whipped, so I was sent to her, and she told me she found out we would be leaving for the other camp tomorrow.”

Riot’s eyes widened. “Tomorrow? Jesus Christ. I definitely didn’t expect it to be so soon.” She huffed, then crossed her arms. “Well, it’s the best shot we have then, I guess. Don’t see why not. I mean, we were all gonna die anyway, might as well do it trying to escape.”

Relic placed a hand on Riot’s shoulder and locked his eyes with hers. “Have faith. If you don’t believe we can do it, then we won’t.”

Riot’s eyes softened, and a smile tempted her lips. “Ah, you know I was only joking. Of course, I think we’ll make it through. Riddle might be a complicated girl, but she’s not an idiot.”

Relic placed his hand back to the ground and turned to Laurens. His smile felt much more comforting when it wasn’t pointed at you. Laurens smiled back, however, causing Relic to look somewhere else.

Shield pursed his lips. “I’ll follow this plan. I have no problem with dying, as long as I know I didn’t go down without a fight.” He nudged Arty, earning a thumbs-up as he looked up from his sketching on the ground. Shield nodded once, then turned to Laurens again. “Art agrees.”

Laurens raised a brow. “Are you sure he knows what we’re talki-”

Shield interrupted Laurens. “He understands what he’s agreeing to. Don’t doubt him.”

Laurens took in a slow breath, then turned to Paragraph. The only one left to express a willingness for Riddle’s plan. Paragraph caught Laurens’ gaze, then rolled his eyes. “Even after hearing Riddle’s plan twice, it’s still horrible. First of all, there are so many possible ways the plan could go wrong. She explained it without bringing up any of the worst-case scenarios, and even if she thought of them, she didn’t seem to care enough to tell you how she solved those problems. All we know is tomorrow we’re heading to another camp, where we will take one night to rest, and in that time, Riddle will make sure the redcoats have ingested something to knock them out. Then, she’ll find her way to us, untie us, then lead us to freedom to a place that only she knows of. But we can’t stay there for long because the redcoats will come looking for us, so we have to move from there after however long we were there in the beginning to a place that’s actually safe.”

Paragraph took a moment to breathe and use telepathy to ask Laurens for confirmation. Laurens nodded.

Paragraph threw his hands in the air, then sighed and tilted his head to the sky. “This is the worst decision I’ve ever made, but I’m in. Besides, I’ve always wanted to die young, unsuccessful, and surrounded by idiots.”

Laurens smiled, but his mouth gaped and a chill ran through his spine when he heard booming laughter to his right. He was scared to turn to see the culprit, and he was more afraid when he saw Shield holding his stomach in what appeared to be uncontrollable laughter. Paragraph, of course, noticed this too, and a strawberry blush splashed across his cheeks. Riot joined in, and at the end, only Relic and Paragraph were left without an ache in their stomach.

“Ah, at least Riddle will be with us, though. I’d be happy to die with her around,” Riot said, her green eyes shimmering under the last stretch of sunlight.

Paragraph scoffed. “Considering what happened when I first met her, I definitely wouldn’t want her around.” The second after these words left Paragraph’s mouth, his eyes widened a fraction. He trained his eyes to the ground, and Laurens knew he didn’t mean to let that thought slip out. He wouldn’t have pressed it, but someone else was just as curious as him without the courtesy to leave it alone.

Riot piped up. “What was that, kid?”

“Nothing,” Paragraph mumbled through gritted teeth.

Shield’s eagle eyes targeted Paragraph. “You met Riddle the same way the rest of us did. Except for Angel, of course, but none of us had any weird experiences with her until a few days later. Nothing that would make us not be comfortable with her around when we died.”

Paragraph tried to correct himself. “I was just jok-”

Shield crossed his arms. “And even though we were messing around just now, you sounded serious. So, if it doesn’t make sense you would say something like that if you met her the same way the rest of us did, then you are hiding something. That wasn’t the first time you met her, was it?”

Laurens turned to face Paragraph, awaiting his answer. The sheer panic on Paragraph’s face was bleeding through the rest of his body. His fingers twitched, and his chest rose and fell quicker than before. His mouth opened and closed as if he was caught eating peanut butter out of the jar. This kid was guilty of something, and he was horrible at hiding it.

Paragraph’s first words were lies. “It was. She just seemed off to me when we first met her, that’s all.”

Shield narrowed his eyes further, and when Laurens scanned the rest even Relic could tell Paragraph’s excuse was shit.

No one spoke, though; they just stared. That was all Paragraph needed to confess. “Whatever, I lied. It’s not like it matters anyway. I met her the day I got captured by the redcoats. I saw her talking to my brother, and this soldier guy about tricking and trapping and annihilation, and once they left, the redcoats burst through the doors and said they needed my brother because he was a traitor to the crown, and then they ended up taking me instead. Happy, now?”

Laurens’ eyes softened at Paragraph’s outburst. Based on his story, Paragraph being taken instead of his brother must have meant something happened to his brother where he couldn’t be used anymore. It wasn’t hard to guess what. When Laurens scanned everyone else’s faces, he could tell they came to the same conclusion he did. Paragraph’s brother plotted with Riddle and some soldier against the redcoats, ultimately leading to Paragraph’s brother dying and Paragraph’s future as a prisoner of war. There was one piece missing though. And before the thought came to Laurens’ head, Shield spoke it into existence.

“How did your brother die? If the redcoats wanted him so much, they wouldn’t have killed him.”

Paragraph’s defensive energy deflated. He kept his eyes on the ground. “They wouldn’t have killed him on purpose. He was willing to be their prisoner, but when they took him one of them gave the order to kill me. Jean pushed me out of the way and he was shot instead of me. He saved me, and because I was there when he was having one of his secret, traitor meetings, they assumed I would know something. So, here I am.”

Laurens’ mind urged his arms to wrap around Paragraph, but he refrained from the impulse. Paragraph probably didn’t want anyone’s affection right now; he probably just wanted to disappear. The mood of the group had shifted to a quiet sadness. Just like Paragraph, everyone had dead loved ones. Laurens knew every one of them was thinking about those people. People they cared for who they might never see again. Laurens shook his head and decided to abandon his thoughts. Including the inclination, he should fight the urge to comfort Paragraph. Laurens scooted closer to Paragraph and wrapped his arm around Paragraph’s narrow shoulders. Paragraph grunted and threw Laurens’ arm off immediately. Laurens regretted his actions until he saw the tiniest smile on Paragraph’s face.

He made the right choice.

A long sigh fell out of Riot’s lips, calling everyone’s previously distracted minds. She turned to Paragraph with a tilt of her head and wispy clouds of green in her eyes. “Sorry, we made you bring that up. Must’ve been hard.”

Paragraph kept his eyes on the ground, but Laurens noticed a small splotch of dirt below Paragraph’s downcast face turn to mud. Laurens waited for more, but Paragraph drew his sleeved forearm across his eyes, stopping the individual waterfall. "It’s fine,” he said, a clear strain in his voice. “I’m over it.”

Riot’s eyes stuck to Paragraph. There was guilt written in bold across her features. She cleared her throat and straightened her back. She wanted to do anything to change the air of the grave already ridden with enough bad feelings. “You know-uh. I once had a run-in with the reds like that. It’s actually why I ended up in here too.”

Paragraph lifted his head, and Laurens almost cringed at the red veins cutting through the white of his eyes. He didn’t want to call any more attention to Paragraph so he let his focus drift to Riot.

She cleared her throat and stretched a smile across her face. “By my name, all of you already know I wasn’t much of a peaceful protestor. I tried to be, don’t get me wrong, but sometimes those dirty soldiers just know exactly how to get under your skin. Anyway, this was a week or so before I got dragged here, and my friend, who’s a colonist and protested against British reign as well, introduced me to a cause he had joined. Well, not a cause, but a new group of people with a clearer motivation than I had before.”

Briefly, she stopped and noticed everyone’s eyes were on her. She adjusted her posture so no one was left seeing just the side of her face and then she continued.

“My friend, he said that the guy running the little group knew another guy that told him everything bad about the British. Everything they were planning, where they would be at certain times, even what shipments they had taken in, so just all of it, ya know? Yeah, so, I get taken in that group and I start working all secretive and behind the scenes on everything. Completely different from my previous work of screamin’, throwin’ things, and tacklin’ some guys. Yeah, so I didn’t try as hard to be peaceful as I shoulda, but anyway, about a week passes by and I’m doing all this work with ‘em then I get asked to sneak onto this ship with some shipments and steal ‘em because the British needed it for something. Can’t remember what it was, which is weird cause ya think I would, but I don’t. It was just something. So, we were in the process of thievin’ and then all of a sudden someone says “run” but I didn’t hear ‘em say that so I kept grabbing boxes and loadin’ ‘em only to realize no one was there to take the boxes from me. What I did see was a couple of reds with their guns in my face and a smile on theirs. Right place, wrong time, I guess. And, uh, that’s when I got taken here. So, maybe it isn’t that similar, but it’s still a fun story.” Riot chuckled, and when she glanced around the pit, she caught the wide eyes and smiles on everyone’s faces.

Laurens stifled a laugh, but Paragraph didn’t.

“I mean, you’re right that it’s funny, but not exactly for you,” Paragraph said.

Riot smirked, and threw her hands behind her head, and lied down, staring at the moon. “Ah, I don’t mind. Gotta find the humor in situations like this, ya know?”

Paragraph nodded.

“You know,” Riot began, turning on her side and propping her head on her hand to face everyone. “It’s funny that I was in a situation like that, and you too, kid. I mean, it was your brother doing the dirty work, but we got caught by the red all the same. It’s kinda weird that Relic was in the same situation too, though.”

Laurens whipped his head away from the ground. “What do you mean?”

Riot locked eyes with Laurens. “Well, before he started talkin’ less, I got to know his situation a little. Can’t remember all of it, but he got rounded up in some underground gig like me and Graph, here. He was in a much bigger group than me, although it wasn’t hard since mine was only five or six people. He said his crew was working with someone who had all the dirt on the reds as well. Crazy, right?”

Laurens's thoughts ran wild.

_Relic was in an underground group working against the British, who knew someone on the inside. Riot was in a protest group against the British who also knew someone on the inside. Paragraph’s brother was working with Riddle and someone Paragraph didn’t know, talking about how to take down British plans. Paragraph was caught in his brother’s planning, and when they tried to take his brother, Jean, they ordered Paragraph’s death. Because Jean died for Paragraph, they took Paragraph instead because they were searching for information that Paragraph might know about. They were searching for someone Jean knew. Someone he worked with. Someone that knew things the British didn’t want them to know and knew how to acquire that information without being noticed._

Laurens, who had begun to recline against the wall, sat forward with his hands on the ground, gripping rocks. He turned to Arty and Shield. “Shield, how did you and Arty get here? What did you do to get taken prisoner?”

Shield was unfazed by the desperation in Laurens’ voice. “Well, Art and I worked together as soldiers for the colonies. We were here in South Carolina fighting whatever battles came our way, and then we slipped up and got ourselves captured. Nothing else to say.”

Laurens brought his arms across his chest, and a hand to his chin. “Are you sure you didn’t do anything else beforehand? I mean, were you ever involved in something like Paragraph’s brother and Riot and Relic?”

Shield squinted at Laurens. “Did I ever actively work against the British?”

Laurens huffed. “Did you ever work with anyone who was working on the inside?”

Shield leaned back on his hands. “Of course, I did. We always had someone working on the inside. Although, there was a time when Art and I were in the middle of a battle, and we were about to shoot this one redcoat that came up to us, but he told us he was a spy working against them. I didn’t believe him, but Art told me we should trust him because earlier Art saw that same redcoat save a few of our men. He ended up helping us out and telling us a message we should send to our general that would help us win, and then after he told us he vanished. I left immediately to tell the general what happened and what the spy told us, and then we ended up winning the battle. You mean something like that?”

Laurens didn’t reply because his thoughts had corrupted his vocal abilities. Past words rose to his head. The request the “General” asked all of them on Sunday night.

_If you tell me who caused the British to lose, I will set you free._

“I’m an idiot,” Laurens said, his eyes wide and his head between his hands.

Paragraph shrugged. “Don’t worry, Angel. We don’t judge.”

Laurens rolled his eyes. “Thanks, kid, needed the assurance, but I’m not an idiot in the way that you think because we’re all idiots!”

Riot scoffed. “Alright, that’s a bit rude. Don’t see why you had to say that.”

Laurens groaned. “Would you just let me speak! The answer was right there, we just didn’t see it. Or maybe you did, and I’m realizing this now, but I know why we’re here! The General asked us who caused the British to lose, and I just assumed he was looking for someone to blame for the obvious answer for why they lost, but he wasn’t. And the reason why we never found out was because of how poorly he spent his time actually questioning us. He was probably ordered to question us by the real general, but he didn’t care because he just wanted to skip to the torturing us part.”

Paragraph rested his head on his fist. “You should skip to the part where you make sense.”

“Ugh, don’t you see?” Laurens asked, jumping to his feet and staring down at their glazed, yet theorizing eyes. “They’re asking us about a spy in their camp. They’re looking for someone who actively destroyed all their plans, specifically for the men under this general and possibly in some other troops that were caught in the same situation. One specific spy that ruined their chances because he worked with other groups to expand what we were trying to do. And the reason why all of us are in here is because in one way or another we were connected to that spy!”

Shield spoke up. “So, if all of us are connected to the spy somehow, how are you?”

Laurens paused. “I’m not sure, but I worked with George Washington directly, so they must have thought I would know about all the spies Washington put into action. And that’s also probably why the real general said that I can’t be harmed because he knows that I would know something, but he’s unsure about the rest of you. Well, that doesn’t feel complete, but that doesn’t matter because we know now. Although, now that we know, the next time the general tries to torture us, we have a clue what he’s talking about, so we have to make sure he doesn’t detect any uncertainty or nervousness from us. The general can’t know what we know.”

“What can’t I know?”

Laurens’ shoulders tightened and every bone in his body felt ready to shatter. His eyes flickered to the faces of Riot, Relic, Arty, Shield, and Paragraph and he saw the same look of stomach-dropping dread. Laurens turned around. When he did, he was greeted with the smile of the General. The fake General. The rat.

“Don’t worry,” he said, clasping his hands behind him. “I’m not going to hurt you just yet. Someone has to have a talk with _y’all_ first.” 


	30. J. Laurens

“No one can escape making mistakes in life, but only the strongest can rise above them and realize mistakes are opportunities for learning and growth.”

Whoever said that is an idiot.

Mistakes are made by everyone, but the fault in this logic is some mistakes can get you killed. How are you supposed to learn and grow if you’re dead?

Laurens knew the second his hands were tied and hooked to the tree once more he was a dead man. Just like Paragraph. Just like Riot, and just like the rest of them. Because of his lack of spatial awareness, he had condemned his friends along with him. If he had just kept his ears open and watched for anyone outside of the grave, he could have saved them from this mess. There was no one else to blame but him. How could he spend his entire life trying to protect others and keep them out of harm and end up leading five innocent people to their deaths along with him?

Laurens didn’t hear the voices around him. He didn’t pay attention to what people did, or who left, or who arrived. His eyes strayed to what was perched above him. Perched on invisible hands, surrounded by space and twinkling lights. He looked to the moon. A silver eye never within arm’s reach. A silver eye or something you might hold in your hand. Almost like a... what was it like? A snowball, maybe. Like the ones he threw with Lafayette after Alexander left. No, not Alexander. Alex.

_Whenever I miss you, call me Alex._

_What do I call you when I miss you? What do you call me when I miss you? What do you call me when you miss me? The only person since my parents to call me John was Grey. I hated him for that, and I wanted to correct him for what he had done. I wanted someone to help me erase his image from my head. You could have done that, Alex. I should have said something to you. I should have told you what to say. I should have asked you for help. Just that one favor. To call me by a name that had been killed by someone else, and give it new life._

Laurens dropped his head and stared at the ground. He bent his neck to the left and caught a glimpse of who stood next to him. Tied just like him, arms raised above his head, head staring up at the... moon, and eyes narrowed like a hawk, was Paragraph. Paragraph didn’t notice Laurens’ stare on him, he just kept glaring at the moon as if he was angry it was able to be so far from where they were. From what was about to happen. In Paragraph’s sullen, outraged eyes, Laurens saw Alex.

Alex, who would always be out of reach, just like the moon. Laurens turned his gaze back to the moon. Why would it always be a distance away?

_Why would this be the place I give up? Why would I choose to never see him again, when I’ve still got my life in my hands? I’m not dead yet. Laurens glanced at the people he had met in the grave only a week or so earlier. They aren’t dead either. Why would I choose to let this mistake take my hope away when I’ve faced problems worse than this before and come out alive? I’ve still got legs, don’t I? I’ve got feet, hands, arms, a stomach, a chest, a head, and a heart. That’s all I've ever needed before, so it’s all I need now. No matter what, I’ll find a way out of this. Not just for me, but for all of us. No one left behind. No one lost. No one hopeless. Easy._

Laurens laughed. It started small and caught the attention of the fake General, the real general, and his friends tied next to him. When it built, the odd stares he received were filled with either uneasy judgment or stoic confusion. Both did nothing to calm him.

Laurens locked eyes with the General. There was anger. Anger boiling his blood and filling his head with hot coals. He wasn’t pleased. He wanted to hurt Laurens, and hurt him, he did. He held a knife between his stubby fingers and took three strides toward Laurens. Before Laurens knew it, the knife lodged inside the cartilage in the top of his ear. He cried out, gritting his teeth, and closing his eyes in hopes the pain would fade. It didn’t. The General decided to not only stab Laurens’ ear but the bark of the tree as well. Now Laurens was kept in place by rope, metal, and a blade. He winced as he tried to move to comfort himself, but it only caused more pain. The General kept the knife there for a few moments more, then yanked it out in a single tug. A sharp cry erupted from Laurens’ mouth but died in seconds when Laurens clenched his jaw. His breathing was quick, but he slowed it to what felt like a normal pace. The others understood his pain. They understood his resistance to submission, and more so, objection to admit being affected by their handiwork.

Blood trickled down Laurens’ ear to his neck and past. He glanced at the General once more and saw the smile of a man so pathetic he should have been born as a worm. The idea of the General wriggling like a worm beneath Laurens’ feet incited a smile on his face. It stretched wide and displayed his pearls of white. The General couldn’t stand it.

“What are you smiling about?” He snapped, fingers tightening around the knife.

Laurens took a slow breath in, then puffed it out fast through his nostrils. “Well,” he glanced at Riot, to his right, and then Paragraph, to his left, where his eyes stayed. Paragraph rolled his eyes, already knowing what kind of idiocy was about to come out of Laurens’ mouth.

Laurens winked at Paragraph, then said, “I’ve always wanted to get my ears pierced.”

Paragraph uttered a hushed, “Oh my God,” and lowered his head.

Laurens chuckled for a moment, then faced the General again. The General clutched the knife and reared back ready to strike. A hand stopped him. The hand of the real general on his shoulder. He whispered in the General’s ear, causing the General to take a few steps back and a few more until he was out of sight and out of... well, not mind, but you see.

The general approached Laurens. His hands were clasped behind his back, which was so straight it almost curved into a negative angle. His eyes were a dark brown. They squinted down at Laurens like an old, ready-to-retire teacher having to deal with a mischievous student on their third violation. He had smooth, brown hair tied in a low ponytail, and skin the color of specially prepared untanned animal skin, or parchment. He was much taller than Laurens, and his body was stiff and wrapped with muscle made for killing men and taming broncos. Sufficed to say, he was discerning, a little disgruntled, and a lot intimidating. Laurens wasn’t sure how to approach this one yet, so he used silence.

“Lost your tongue?” The general said, an eyebrow raised.

“I’m not as eager to see what your anger feels like," Laurens said.

“No?” The general hummed and put a hand to his chin. “Good, because I am not so eager to show it. For now, I have something more important to address. My assistant, the one who’s been responsible for your care since all of you arrived, has told me a piece of information I was very glad to hear.”

All prisoners breathed a little quieter. And a little faster.

“He says he heard his name mentioned, along with something about spies, George Washington, and “the General can’t know what we know”. So, if there’s something any of you feels like telling me, now is as good a time as any.”

No one spoke.

The general grabbed a chair from behind him and placed it in equal view of everyone, and then he sat. “Look, I understand why you would not want to tell me. I probably don’t seem like the most trustworthy sort, but this information is not only helpful for me but all of you as well. All I want to know is the name of the spy that foiled all of my plans. I know he’s either in this camp or among troops I have worked with before. And if you don’t tell me, it is not only your lives on the line, but hers as well.”

The general waved his hand, and two soldiers came into view hauling a mud-plastered, hunched body into the area. They set the body down in front of the general. When the quivering mass lifted her head, the face of Riddle appeared. Blood painted her features, barely discernable under the array of green, blue, and purple bruising. Laurens breath was lost when he saw her face, and his heart seemed to stop when the general grabbed Riddle by her hair and looped his arm around her to press the tip of his knife to her throat. She trembled, but her eyes stayed firm.

“Look at me, not her!” The general said, pressing the tip further into Riddle’s skin. “You will tell me who the spy is or I will kill your friend. You must know the right thing to do. Or are you still so concerned for a rotten traitor instead of someone you can actually save?”

Riot burst forward, yanking against the ropes with a murderous glare in her eyes and a scowl pulling at her lips. “I’ll kill you, general. No matter what happens here tonight, I’ll kill you.”

The general’s eyes widened and his lips parted. “Oh, really? So, you are condemning this woman to death, then?”

Relic shouted past his tears. It was the first time Laurens ever heard Relic raise his voice. “Please, stop! Riddle didn’t do anything wrong, don’t hurt her! We don’t have the information you’re looking for! We don’t know about any spy!”

Laurens felt his breathing quicken.

_No, Relic. You shouldn’t have done that._

“Have you no ounce of honesty in those sinful bones of yours?” The general pouted. “I know you know about the spy. I know you have information that you aren’t telling me. And even though you know I am aware of these facts, still you choose to defy me. You have made a terrible mistake.”

His grip tightened on the hilt of the blade. Riddle’s eyes stuck to Laurens’. He stared back at her with fire on his tongue ready to burn, but Riddle doused it with a small whisper pointed at Laurens.

“I’ll be okay,” she said, a single tear falling down her cheek. “Just don’t tell this bastard anything.”

The general heard her words and made them final. Laurens lurched forward as the knife sunk into the skin of Riddle’s throat then glided along her neck causing death’s tears to pulse out of the wound and slide down her chest. A choked gurgle was the last sound she made before the general removed his hand from her hair and let her head drop to the ground at his feet. Laurens stared into her eyes as her soul shifted from Earth to the afterlife. He took one last look at her before his glare pinned to the general.

“Oh, and one more thing,” the general said. “Say goodbye to your plans of escape. Your meetings with Riddle weren’t nearly as secretive as you thought they were. If only you were a bit better at sneaking around you might’ve actually escaped this place. Sorry, Angel.”

The general’s words ignited a hurricane inside Laurens’ bones. In a single move, Laurens lifted his hands, releasing himself from the metal hook, and taking one step forward to launch himself at the general. The space around Laurens turned into a tunnel, and all he saw was the wide eyes of the general. He hurtled forward, shoving his shoulder against the general’s throat, catching under his chin and sending both of them to the ground. The chair broke under their weight, and Laurens, hands still tied behind his back, whipped his head back then slammed it into the general’s nose. He knew that wouldn’t be enough to kill him, and with the small amount of time he had left he had to abandon his humanity and crush the general’s throat between his teeth. He lurched forward, but before his teeth could pierce the general’s flesh, he was lifted into the air and thrown against the tree he just freed himself from. Laurens’s head smashed against the trunk, earning black spots in his vision. He felt two pairs of hands grasp his shirt and bring him to his feet. Despite his clouded eyes, he wrenched his body out of the hands holding him and barreled forward. An arm caught his throat and sent him to the ground. Laurens choked and readied to wrestle against his handlers again, but a fist pounded into his temple and sent him unconscious.

When he woke up only seconds later, his hands were hooked to the tree once more, but a thick rope kept his torso in place as well. He assumed it wrapped around the entire tree, ultimately demolishing any future plans of escape. When his eyes focused on his surroundings, the first clear vision was the general in front of him. With wide eyes, like before, and a disapproving smile.

“That was dramatic,” he said, shaking his head. “I’ll have to keep my eye on you.”

Laurens grimaced but chose not to respond. The general, who had been given another chair, sat down and crossed one leg over the other. He placed his hands in his lap and smiled. “Now that that’s over with, I would like you all, minus one, to know this.”

Laurens heard Relic’s whimpers far to his left, and he could almost feel the rage radiating from Shield, Arty, Paragraph, and Riot. He was sure they could feel his too.

The general reigned in their attention. “I have two men working for me. Two capable, trusted, and very responsible soldiers have been sent across the colonies in search of the spy and in search of anyone he has come in contact with. They were recently stationed at the camp we were moving to tomorrow, or today now, but because I have delayed our travels momentarily thanks to all of you, they will be coming here. Now, because I told them to come earlier anyway, once Angel had arrived, they should be here anytime now. Once they arrive, they will help in retrieving the information I need. Also, I’m told they have some very interesting news that will help this process speed along nicely. But they are not here yet. Meaning, I must do some of the dirty work myself for now. All I have to do is pick the right crop, and a bountiful harvest will come my way.”

Laurens heard a scoff to his left, and he turned to see Paragraph with a look of disdain on his face. A corner of Laurens’ lips raised. Of course, Paragraph was scolding the general in his head even when their lives could be taken from them at any moment. There was never going to be a time when Paragraph didn’t have an attitude, was there?

“Ah, of course!” The general exclaimed, rising to his feet.

Laurens snapped his head in the direction of the general who stared directly at him. Laurens’ brows furrowed as he watched the general smile, then transition his stare to Paragraph. The blood drained from Laurens’ face.

_No. Not him. Please, not him._

Paragraph’s hawk-like eyes flicked upward to the general, standing a few feet in front of him. Paragraph’s demeanor was calm and unwavering like a mountain hit by a tsunami. It knew it wouldn’t fall. Paragraph, who Laurens had never seen smile once, held a wicked grin on his face. His character had transformed, and Laurens felt a shiver run through him because this side of Paragraph was completely unexpected. The kid was ready. He wasn’t afraid. But Laurens was. He thrashed against the rope around his stomach and the ropes around his wrists, but nothing worked.

“Stop!” He shouted, pleads knit in his brows and desperation tainting his words. “Hurt me, torture me! I’ll take whatever you plan to do to him, just don’t hurt him!”

The general’s eyebrows raised at Laurens’ cries. He ignored the protests coming from Riot’s mouth as well as Relic and Shield. Arty tried too but to no avail. All these people, who didn’t seem to try to protect each other from the General’s wrath except for Shield, screamed and yelled and offered their sacrifice in place of Paragraph. They had changed because of Riddle. They had changed because of Laurens, their Angel.

The general blocked out all the voices, only caring for one. Paragraph’s. “What’s your name, boy?”

Paragraph’s sharp smile never faltered. His eyes were black ice, a barren land frozen over. “Sorry, didn’t catch that.”

Laurens's stomach dropped. All the outside voices went silent. The general scoffed, and a chagrined, offended expression overrode his face. “I said, what is your name, boy?”

Paragraph’s mouth closed, and Laurens felt he might have a stroke when he found out the reason why. Paragraph spit at the general’s feet, hitting his shoe.

“If you call me boy one more time, you’ll never find out.”

Laurens wasn’t sure if the threat meant Paragraph wouldn’t tell the general his name if he was called boy again, or if he was called boy again, Paragraph would kill the general, ultimately leading to the general never knowing what Paragraph’s name was. Either one would stop Laurens’ heart, that was certain.

The general sighed. “Just know, I wasn’t planning on going this far.” The general turned to the two redcoats standing off to the side. “One of you get me the whip, and the other turn him around.”

“Stop!” Laurens yelled. “Why are you doing this anyway! What has he done to earn this?”

The general paused. His eyes honed in on Laurens with zero emotion in them. Blank like unspoken confessions and ruined dreams. “Because he, like all of you, has sinned against the crown. Anyone who is against the crown is admitting they have fallen under the Devil’s reign, and they should be punished accordingly. Because I am a man under God, a fighter on the holy side, I have been given permission to pass judgment where I see fit. I am allowed this power because I have shown a pure heart for the right cause, and despite the chances I have given all of you, you refuse to repent of your sins and do the right thing.” He lowered his head. “Oh, if only you could overcome your selfish pride and listen to the voice of reason. This is just what has to be done. In truth, this is God’s love for all of you. He wants you to be punished because you need to see the faults in your actions. And I am the one he chose to make you see.”

He turned to his soldiers once more. “Do as I command.”

The redcoats resumed their actions. One tended to Paragraph and one gathered the whip. Now, Paragraph’s bare back faced the general. Paragraph didn’t hold an ounce of uncertainty in his expression, and even if he felt any anxiety Laurens was sure he wouldn’t be able to tell. As he stared at Paragraph’s closed eyes, he watched the barbed whip, like the thorned stem of a rose, slash his back. Paragraph’s eyes opened wide, and so did his mouth as a guttural cry tore at his throat. Laurens tried moving his body any which way, but he couldn’t free himself. He glanced at the others wondering why they did nothing when they could free themselves just like he did earlier, but when he finally looked at them, really looked, he saw they were tied just like him now. Backs flush against the bark of the tree with no way out.

Laurens yelled for the general to stop, but nothing helped.

The second slash sent Paragraph slouching against the tree, his wail louder than before. The third, fourth, fifth, sixth, and seventh all reaping the same screams that scarred anyone’s ears close enough to hear. He watched heavy streams of tears wash Paragraph’s cheeks. He saw the blood trickling from Paragraph’s lip, as he must have bitten it on accident. No, on purpose. Paragraph was trying so hard to keep his screams at bay. He tried so hard to seem strong, to show he could take the hits, but he was just as human as the next person, and he couldn’t take this no matter how confidently he spoke.

Laurens lost count of how many times Paragraph had been cut by the whip. He didn’t even realize tears stung at his own eyes, until he heard his voice break when he yelled, “Stop! Please, I’ll tell you everything we know, just stop hurting him!”

The general stopped, and Laurens couldn’t bear to make eye contact with Paragraph, who he knew held a furious glare just for him. He only faced the general.

The general stood in front of Laurens, the whip still in his hand. “Confess,” he said.

_This is what I have to do._

“All we know is that all of us are connected to the spy in some way. Me because I’m an aide de camp to Washington, and Washington would have been in charge of a spy that would have affected your troops, Riot because she was a part of a small protest group that was given information from the spy, same with Relic except a different group, Arty and Shield because they met the spy once on the battlefield, and Paragraph... Paragraph because his brother met with the spy once when Paragraph was around. But that’s all we know, none of us know the guy’s name! Shield and Paragraph don’t even remember what the guy looks like!”

Laurens felt all effort thunder in his chest. Guilt rained down on him in sheets, but when he turned to see the faces of his friends all he saw was sadness. No anger, no resentment, just disappointment. Disappointment and understanding. Every one of them shared these feelings except for Paragraph. His anger and his resentment shot through Laurens’ heart like a bullet. Paragraph didn’t understand why Laurens did what he did. But Laurens didn’t care. He would take Paragraph’s hatred as long as it meant the kid was still alive to hate him.

The general bent down a few inches to meet Laurens. He was close enough to Laurens’ face, his hot breath fanned against Laurens’ eyelashes. Then, he spoke the worst words Laurens had ever heard. “Not good enough,” he said, turning back to Paragraph.

Laurens began to shout “No!” but his cry was hindered by a swift slap to the face from a redcoat he didn’t realize was by him. The general pulled a knife from his pocket. The same knife used to kill Riddle. It was obvious enough with small patches of dried blood on the smooth metal. The general grabbed Paragraph’s wrists and unhooked him only to attach him to the tree again now that he faced the general. The knifepoint flew to Paragraph’s throat. The blade began to sink into the tender flesh causing a droplet of blood to dribble down Paragraph’s neck to his chest. Just like Riddle.

“Any last words, boy?” The general asked, a smile tugging at his lips.

Paragraph closed his mouth, and Laurens knew what was coming. He spat in the general’s eye, then replaced shut lips with a maniacal grin.

“You know, I might not be able to do anything about you calling me boy again. But trust me when I say this: Riot’s gonna kill you for this.”

The general laughed and tensed his hand. The blade slowly cut deeper, then slid-

“General!”

The blade stopped. It pulled away.

“What do you want?” The general snapped, turning around to face a redcoat, no, the fake General, who had rushed to the general’s side.

“They’re here, sir. Your soldiers, Verryk and Reem. They’ve arrived.”

The general dropped the knife inside his pocket, wiped his hands, then smiled. “Ah, finally some good news. Well, hurry along. Bring them here.”

“Uh, General, they’re right there.”

Everyone’s eyes turned to where the General pointed. Laurens twisted his neck to the right. At first, Laurens only saw one man. His hair was curly like Laurens’ and pulled in a slick ponytail. His build was also very similar to Laurens’, but his eyes were blue, and his skin was much darker than Laurens’.

“Reem, good to see you.” The general said, gesturing for Reem to come to his side. “Now, where is Verryk?”

Reem flicked his chin to the right. “Behind you, sir.”

The flesh of night halted Verryk from being seen as quickly as Reem. When Laurens turned his head to face in front of him, he noticed a dark figure step forward. He stood next to the general and Reem with his hands behind his back and his posture stiff. When the moonlight illuminated Verryk’s face, the breath was taken from Laurens’ lungs.

 _I’m an idiot_ , he thought. _Of course, it had to be you._

And now, under a neat little bow, everything came together. 


	31. A. Hamilton

Grief versus the human body. What does it do? What are the effects?

Mostly, it is a weight. Grief is a boulder, a mountain, a cannonball, and the chains around a prisoner’s hands and feet.

A boulder rested on Alexander’s shoulders as he tried to find a path around the mountain. When he avoided the climb, he found invisible forces firing black spheres where his next step would have been. He walked but did not run. He couldn’t run. The chains around his feet determined his pace to stay the same a person follows as they age from a newborn to an elder. When he walked, his metal-bound hands steadied the boulder, yet no matter how hard he tried it continued to fall off his shoulders. Every time it fell, he stopped to pick it back up. Why wouldn’t he be happy the boulder was gone and leave it on the ground? Couldn’t he move faster, then? He knew he could, yet he chose to carry the boulder with him.

Sometimes, in his darkest moments, he would see Eliza. She would offer her unbound hands and say, “Let me help you, Alexander.” But he wouldn’t allow her help. He wouldn’t give her the boulder knowing she would have to deal with the danger of being held down. Besides, why would he need her help? He could handle the weight by himself. He tried to push through the weight by working. That would help. If you avoided a problem enough, it would be fixed. He spent all his time working. Working with Burr and Washington, and working against Jefferson and Madison. He used all his hidden emotions as tools to rise in the workplace and focus on what was important. The American people needed him at his best, and he would be there for them without distractions.

Until, today.

Today, was the funeral for Laurens. His Laurens.

Despite keeping Eliza away from the weight he carried, she kept pushing no matter what he said. She did her best to help wherever she could. These selfless acts were highlighted when Alexander walked into the study, the only room he spent any time in, and saw a black ensemble lain across the writing desk. White ruffle peeked at the chest and neck area, but everywhere else was black. He took a few steps closer and reached out. He rolled the fabric between his fingers and sighed. She wasn’t going to let him avoid the truth today.

Alexander began to peel his clothes off one by one and then replaced them with the somber dress. Once he was covered, he scanned the room for a mirror. The lights were off, so when he looked far enough until he stared at himself, there was nothing to see. He blended with the background like a ghost. The only feature visible was his eyes. He looked away.

“Alexander?” Eliza’s voice floated through the crack under the closed door.

“In here,” he said, letting his feet guide him to the doorknob. He turned it and fell under gold daylight and Eliza’s gaze.

She smiled. Her eyes were soft and her head tilted to the left.

“Are you ready to go?”

“I am.”

She looped her arm around his and led him through their house. It felt bizarre to walk the halls, past the kitchen and the staircase, to the entrance. It was like going to a friend’s house for the first time. Everything was new and strange. The smells were unfamiliar, and all characteristics filled you with a sense of curiosity and hesitation. He felt... misplaced. Unwelcome.

He thought the feeling would fade when Eliza took him outside to a carriage. Instead of improvement, was an itch under his skin. Everything was wrong. And what made it worse, was he had been outside recently. Cabinet meetings and talks of congress, going to work and back home, yet every time he left the world seemed more and more distant. Like gravity stopped working just for him. He was a magnet attracted only to the emptiness of space. Drifting into the darkness never to be seen again. The only familiar concept he found there was his anger. As he was drawn away from Earth, his anger and resentment were drawn to him. It was in the food he ate and the water he drank. The clothes he wore, the voices he heard, and in the air he breathed. He hated all other emotions he was supposed to be feeling. Especially, acceptance. How could he accept what had happened to Laurens? How could he just sit there and take the fact that his friend was murdered? How could he ever be the same?

As his mind rampaged with hammers in hand, he fiddled with the collar of his outercoat. Outercoat. Coat. Jacket. What does this have to do with any-

_“Laurens, you’re about the same size as Hamilton. Lend him something, won’t you?”_

Lafayette’s voice filled Alexander’s mind. Then another’s.

_“Yeah, I don’t mind. Whatever you need, I got you.”_

Alexander remembered standing in the doorway with nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist, and Laurens standing in front of him with a tentative smile. He handed a dark brown coat, his coat, to Alexander. When he had changed and wore that coat for the rest of the day, he remembered bending his head down to smell the fabric. It smelled like Laurens. He remembered the confusion rushing through him when he realized what he was doing. He asked himself so many questions.

 _Why did I do that? Who smells another man’s coat?_ And then the justification that did nothing to justify his actions. _Well, it’s just Laurens’ coat. It’s not weird, I’m just making sure it’s clean. That’s normal._

Alexander laughed. Eliza whipped her head to make sure her ears hadn’t tricked her. Alexander looked up to see her eyes wide and unsure. He turned his head to the window and pulled the smile off his face.

_I used to be unsure. I resisted my feelings for Laurens for so long, and what good did that do me? If only I had realized what I felt earlier, I could have had more time-_

_No, don’t think that way. Laurens is gone and that’s all that matters. He’s in the past now. Keep your head on straight._

Alexander’s eyes narrowed and the window fell victim to his self-inflicted glare. Eventually, the carriage arrived at the church. Alexander walked in and noticed a few familiar faces, and some not. He sat on a pew near the front. Eliza sat next to him. The ceremony started and Alexander was pulled back into the black universe. One breath in, held for a moment, then let out. This action was all he remembered doing. He saw flowers, people dressed in black, and he heard Eliza’s voice occasionally. There was one voice, however, drawing him back to the present. The voice of the priest. Only a minute needed to pass before Alexander determined clear, sharpened hatred for the man.

“We have lost a valuable life. One we all regret to part with,” he said.

_We? What did this bastard know about Laurens? When I look around, I barely recognize a third of the people here. Who do they grieve for? Because the answer isn’t Laurens. I knew about everyone he cared for, and only those people should be here. Like this priest. It doesn’t matter if it's tradition or for a goddamn ceremony, people who didn’t have a relationship with Laurens should not be here. They don’t have the right to grieve as his family does. Like Lafayette, like Mulligan, and like..._

Eliza nudged Alexander’s shoulder.

“Are you alright?” She whispered.

Alexander turned his head away from her, opting to ignore her worries. The priest continued his speech and eventually left room for others to share their words for Laurens. At first, Alexander wanted nothing to do with their kind memories, with all the good they had to say. Why should he care? But when Laurens’ father took the stage, Alexander hung onto every word. He spoke of Laurens’ kindness, selflessness, of every wonderful trait Laurens possessed, but also his faults. This list was much shorter. He reveled in a moment from the past. When Laurens decided to become a soldier, and when he expressed his devotion to a life for others. He never said Laurens was perfect, but once he left the pedestal everyone shared the same thought. Laurens was not perfect, but he was better than all the rest. Able to address his mistakes, able to work for improvement, and in his chest, a bigger heart than anyone.

Once the speeches ended so Alexander could leave the church, he did. He didn’t wait for Eliza, and when she found him, he pushed her away causing her to mingle among the slouching crowd. His hand was on a tree. The bark was rough under his fingers. He saw children playing. Playing war. One child held an invisible bayonet, and another lied on the ground, feigning death. Alexander turned away.

In a week, he would have to leave for Philadelphia. He should prepare. He was about to abandon the tree, and find Eliza when he felt a hand on his shoulder. In a flash of his eyes, he adjusted to the sight of Lafayette. Lafayette’s eyes were red and bloodshot. Puffiness in the surrounding area, and transparent stains running down his cheeks.

He smiled.

“Alexander,” he whispered, his gaze tender. “How are you feeling?”

Alexander’s walls rose like a wave in the ocean- “I’m fine.”

“Don’t lie to me. Tell me how you’re feeling.”

-but like the wave, they fell quickly into the rippling surface.

“I miss him.” Alexander gritted his teeth. “That’s how I feel. I miss him. More than anything.”

Lafayette’s hand never left Alexander’s shoulder. But another hand, under Alexander’s arm and resting on the small of his back, pulled him into Lafayette. An embrace. The only physical affection Alexander had since he left Laurens. And it tore him apart.

He threw his arms around Lafayette, and his fingers grasped the black fabric of Lafayette’s coat at his back. Alexander shoved his face into the crook of Lafayette’s neck. Tears from the storm inside Alexander trickled onto Lafayette’s clothes and skin. But Alexander felt something too. The same droplets falling onto the top of his head, and some tracing the back of his neck. Both of them, trapping their emotions inside like a boulder stopping a river from flowing, trying to push the boulder away themselves, but failing. Or keeping it there, in hopes they’ll never need a drink again. Until just one person comes along. Finally, the person they needed, to convince them to move the boulder, to give them the strength they’ve been lacking in themselves, and to let the river flow once more. It wasn’t just Alexander comforting Lafayette, or Lafayette comforting Alexander, it was both of them. Their arms wrapped around each other released the chains holding them prisoner. They carried the weight and discarded it. They protected each other from what fought against them. Most likely, the denial and resistance in themselves.

The tears were heavy, the sobs loud, the breathing inconsistent, but the heart a little lighter. No one stared. No one watched with a scrutinizing eye. Alexander and Lafayette were left with each other, out of the understanding of others who felt the same.

Eventually, after the storm passed, at least for now, they pulled away. When Alexander’s scarlet, glassy eyes, met Lafayette’s, he was finally able to reciprocate the smile. A small chuckle left Lafayette’s lips.

“Thank you, mon ami,” Lafayette said.

“I should be thanking you,” Alexander said, drawing a sleeve over his nose and sniffling.

Lafayette grinned, mimicking the action, and wiping his eyes. “You’re right, you should. You’re welcome.”

“Now I feel better.”

“Good.”

Beats of silence trilled among the air before Lafayette leaned against the tree and began a commentary. “Can you believe how many people came to his funeral?”

Alexander’s shoulder bumped Lafayette’s as he leaned against the same tree, facing the church’s entrance several hundred feet away. “Too many.”

Lafayette nodded. “You know, it makes me wonder what is going on inside all of their heads. I barely recognize anyone here. You would think, as Laurens’ closest friends, we would know more of the faces.”

Alexander hummed. “This is what I hate most about funerals. Almost anyone is allowed to come, no matter how well they knew the person. What do they think about? Do they think about all of their memories with them? As if there are so many? Why would they care?”

Lafayette shrugged. “Well, Laurens was a social butterfly, was he not? He affected so many with just a flash of his smile or a few kind words. He was always helping people when they needed it. It didn’t matter how small the thing was, he would always do his best to get them what they wanted. Especially, when they thought they wouldn’t be able to get it. He was so...”

Alexander heard the crack in Lafayette’s voice. He sighed. “You’re right. Anyone would be devastated hearing that he’s gone. It’s always the hardest to see- to see someone so pure-hearted taken away. It makes you wonder what you’re supposed to do now that they’re gone. People like him are so rare, it feels like you won’t meet any other the same. I just, I don’t get it, Laf.”

Lafayette turned to Alexander as he dropped his head in his hands and groaned. “How could someone so good leave? What are we supposed to do when there’s no one else to be there for us like he was? He- I, why...”

“Why, what?” Lafayette asked, his voice soft.

Alexander let his hands fall back to his sides as he pressed his head against the bark.

“Why would he leave me?”

Alexander looked like crumpled paper ready to be thrown in the trash. He folded in on himself and sobbed. Lafayette wrapped an arm around Alexander’s shoulder. He scanned the surrounding area and was gladdened to see most had either left or were still inside the church.

“I wish I knew, Alexander.” Lafayette crouched slightly to reach Alexander’s head, where he rested his chin. “You know, I don’t expect he misses anyone as much as you. He loved you, and no one can take that away from you. You can imagine how angry he must have been when he realized he was dying, though. He must have been screaming all the curse words he could think of knowing he wouldn’t be able to see you again. Even now, he must be thinking of you still. All the moments you shared. All the times he got to see you, and see the love you held in your eyes for him. He probably doesn’t do anything else in the afterlife, but think of you. I wouldn’t be surprised if he was watching over you now. And who knows? Maybe he’s crying too.”

Lafayette tightened his arms around Alexander, and they sat there for a moment holding each other once more. Alexander’s breathing shallowed and exhaustion washed through his veins. He sat up, slowly pulling away from Lafayette’s grasp, and closed his eyes.

“Laf?”

“Oui?”

“Thank you. For everything.”

“Ah, it was no problem. You know I’ll always be here for you.”

“Me too.” Alexander sighed. “So, now that we’ve covered most of my feelings. How have you been?”

Lafayette laughed. “Well, there is something I have been meaning to tell you, but I never got around to it until now.”

Alexander furrowed his brows. “What is it?”

“You know Elizabeth, Hercules’ wife, don’t you?”

“I haven’t been able to meet her, but I know who you’re talking about.”

Lafayette pursed his lips, then nodded. “Okay, and you know little Joseph, their son?”

“...yes?”

“To try and sum up, Elizabeth became overwhelmed by Hercules being off on all his secret missions and trying to raise Jojo by herself that she decided it would be best if Jojo had no mother at all. She left Jojo on my doorstep with a note that said she was sorry, but she couldn’t handle it anymore and she thought I would be able to take care of her son better. So, she left and I’ve been taking care of Jojo ever since. That’s why I’ve been in America for so long. I can’t exactly return to France with Jojo when I know Hercules will return.”

Alexander’s jaw was tight. “She left Joseph?”

“Oui.”

“She left him even though Herc was bound to return within a month or two?”

“She said that wouldn’t have made a difference.”

Alexander was standing now. “Wouldn’t have made a difference? How? How could she have left her child? How old is Joseph, anyway?”

Lafayette rose to his feet as well. “Two years old, now.”

“Two? She left her two year old son without his mother?"

"I know. I was angry too."

Alexander bristled, his breathing short. "Anger doesn't begin to describe the feelings she deserves. People shouldn't be allowed to abandon their children like that. She should never have been a parent. It's despicable. It's just, God, it's insanity!"

"I know, but imagine how much worse it would have been if she stayed. Anyone with the weakness to give up on their child and leave them, would probably make everything worse if they decided not to leave. I'm just happy she left him with me instead of on the streets somewhere. At least not all of her is incapable."

Alexander scoffed. "True. Joseph is much better off with you."

"Hmm."

Alexander rolled his shoulders, trying to keep his temper in check. He decided changing the subject would be a little bit better. "So, he's really two, now? Feels like just yesterday when you told Laurens and I about him."

Lafayette grimaced. “It does not feel the same for me.”

Alexander raised a brow. “How long has he been with you?”

“Three or four months, and trust me when I say it feels much longer than that.”

Alexander laughed. “Is he anything like Hercules?”

Lafayette rolled his eyes. “He’s exactly like Hercules. I don’t even understand how it happened! He didn’t even spend a full year with Hercules before he left, and yet he is the spitting image of him.”

The air seemed brighter around them despite the looming shadow of dusk.

“Tell me about him,” Alexander said, crossing his arms and stretching a wide grin across his face.

“Ugh,” Lafayette kissed his teeth. “Well, he refuses to do anything I ask. I have to chase him around my room just to get him to go to sleep. And I have to sing him a song every night or else he’s restless. It’s like his sole purpose is to keep me awake for as long as possible. He’s just this boundless ball of energy that bounces off the walls and does whatever he can to tire me out. You wouldn’t expect it, but he’s quiet too. Only around strangers though. Not around me, at all. He just doesn’t stop talking. It’s like attending one of your speeches, except it never ends.”

Alexander huffed. “You know, it sounds more like you’re describing yourself than Hercules.”

Lafayette scoffed. “You could not be more wrong. Jojo and I are nothing alike. Except for his hairstyle, of course. And how cute he is, but other than that he is just like his father!”

Alexander held his hands up in surrender. “Okay, okay. If you say so, Jojo. Or Lafayette, sorry.”

Lafayette flattened his brows. “I hate you. Do you know that?”

“I do, but onto more important things. If Joseph is under your care, why didn’t you bring him with?”

“That would have been the biggest disaster this Earth has ever seen. I had Peggy watch him while I was gone.”

“Ah, I see. So-”

Eliza approached Lafayette and Alexander.

“Alexander?” She asked, resting a hand on his shoulder. “We should get going now. It’s late.”

“Bonjour, Eliza,” Lafayette said, waving a hand.

She smiled at him. “Bonjour, Lafayette. Do you mind if I take Alexander home?”

Lafayette crossed his arms. “Not at all. We’ve been talking for too long, anyway. Just make sure you two come and visit me sometime. Jojo would love, well, he would hate it, but you should come over and meet him.”

Alexander chuckled, and took Eliza’s hand in his. He noticed the flicker of surprise on her face but moved on. “No problem, Laf. You can count on us.”

Lafayette pulled Alexander and Eliza into a final embrace before he waved goodbye and left for his carriage. “See you later!”

Alexander and Eliza headed for their carriage, and in stark contrast to the ride over, they spoke incessantly all the way back home. Alexander’s smile fell sometimes, but when Eliza reached out to help, she wasn’t pushed away any longer. The weight had lightened on them both, and Eliza could barely contain her happiness at seeing Alexander’s improvement.

When they entered their home, Alexander felt familiar again. Nothing was strange or out of place. It all fit. While he didn’t feel whole again, and he knew he never would, he would at least let himself take one step forward. If Laurens was gone, he had to let Laurens live on inside him. He had to show that same kindness. The same selflessness. He had to live for Laurens because, for now, that was all he wanted to do.

After a week of working, and arguing with James Madison and Thomas Jefferson, although mostly Jefferson, _the bastard_ , Alexander had to move his work to Philadelphia. He knew he must, but Eliza tried her best to get his mind off work for at least a weekend. She asked him to take a break, and go upstate with her and Angelica, but he couldn’t. If he was to live for Laurens, there would be no breaks allowed. He had to become his work. He wished there was an easier way, but he couldn’t find that path. He was determined to change the world for the better, and Philadelphia was the next step. In his world without Laurens, this is what had to be done. It was his only choice. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter is kinda shitty. School started up again and it's harder for me to get into my writing. My updates won't be as frequent, but I hope to be able to make them more intriguing, I guess. Hope you guys r doing well, though. Thanks for sticking with me.


	32. J. Laurens

Apparently, Lafayette was not the only person in their friend group that could act.

Laurens averted his gaze from Verryk- better known to Laurens as Hercules Mulligan- and kept his eyes on the ground. The dirt was looking especially interesting this time of year. All cool summer nights and grainy dots under your bare feet. Tiny patches of green and shy flowers. Some trampled, some alive, but caught up in z’s. In their soft, feather-like appearance Laurens was entranced, until Verryk, or Mulligan took a step closer to him.

Laurens cursed in his mind. _I dropped my head, so you wouldn’t come over! Not supposed to be paying any attention to me, idiot._

Then, Laurens’ memory flipped a switch of a completed puzzle alert and eye-witness confirmed. _He knows all the prisoners. Not just me. He was sent by the general, him and Reem, for me and to notify the general of new information they found. He’s just acting. Acting much better than I am too._

Laurens kept his breathing steady, then lifted his chin. Mulligan’s eyes were locked on his, and startlingly bare. Darkest brown and analytical. Mulligan analyzed him like a stranger, the prisoner he was. He cupped Laurens’ chin and tilted Laurens’ head further up so their gazes aligned. Four dying stars in diamond constellation. Laurens sucked in a breath. His eyes flickered to the general briefly, and he plucked a look of surprise from the man’s face. He knew Laurens wouldn’t act like this around Verryk or Reem. They were agents of the Crown. Ruthless killers, adept spies, and most certainly an enemy to Laurens. But that was not the emotion swimming in his pupils. Laurens held no malicious intent, a knife drawn behind his back for Mulligan, but he did hold uncertainty. A wavering of the heart and mind. And the general was smart enough to pick it out, but he just didn’t know why.

Laurens tried to assess his mistake, the fault in each movement, thought, and spoken word, and recalibrate his features from hesitation to anger with a target. His transformation proved well-done, almost charred when Mulligan’s eyes crinkled a fraction. The general seemed to brush away his observation as well, and Laurens felt his heartbeat slow. Mulligan’s hand was still tightened around Laurens’ chin with his fingertips pressing warrior-strength into the bones of Laurens’ jaw causing Laurens to grimace. The actor’s hatred in Laurens’ eyes seemed to come easier now.

“This one has caused you trouble, hasn’t he?” Mulligan cocked his head to the right, a taut frown pulling down the skin surrounding his mouth.

The general cleared his throat, and walked up to Laurens, placing himself at Mulligan’s side. “Oh, no, no. While he may have tried, it has all been manageable. He’s quite simple, actually. As I expected.”

Mulligan hummed in response. The general paused, expecting more than a vibration in the back of the throat, but he adjusted to Mulligan’s lack of words with provision.

“I am sure you already know this, but this is the man I called you here for. John Laurens, under George Washington’s order, as one of his aide de camps. I thought he would have useful information for me, but he proved to be just as useless as the rest of this lot. Even when they found out information about the spy, it still wasn’t what I was looking for. It’s not like I didn’t know that anyway thanks to you and Reem. Silly people, aren’t they?”

A soft grumble formed in Lauren’s throat, but it did not leave. Probably wouldn’t be the best idea to express his displeasure at a time like this. A time when the general had just stated he had no use for them anymore. And a time when the general had the power at hand to kill each and every one of them if the urge came.

Laurens shifted his eyes to match with each of his friends tied next to him. They shared the same understanding he acquired. Their time was about to end. Although, when he glanced at Paragraph, he was given no response. Paragraph’s head was face-forward, and Laurens knew Paragraph was aware his stare was on him.

_So, he’s a lot madder than I thought he was. I’ll have to fix that later, then. For now, though, I’ve got a big problem and no idea how to fix it. Fucking hell, Herc. You got any ideas?_

Mulligan’s stare kept its façade. His hand removed itself and fell to his side. He turned to the general. “Are you sure they’ve told you everything they know, sir? Prisoners I’ve met have a tendency to give you just the right amount of information to satisfy you causing you to think they don’t know what you thought they did.”

The general raised his brows. “I cannot tell you for certain. Although, that is a fair point. Alright, I have an idea. While I converse with Reem about the news you brought me, why don’t you spend some time with the prisoners? See if you can get something out of them I hadn’t the ability to.”

Laurens felt his blood soak into the outside world leaving him dry. His saliva left too. Every part of him bashed against the other in frenzied and unpredictable premonition. They were screwed already, but now Mulligan was thrown into the mix. Soon enough, they’d be cake batter for the general’s very merry un-birthday.

When Laurens drenched his attention in Mulligan, he saw a soul-crushing nod. Mulligan agreed to the terms and Laurens and the others heard shoveling in the distance. The digging of their graves.

The general back-tracked and spun on his heel to face Reem a hundred feet of distance from Mulligan. Mulligan scanned the faces of each prisoner leaving his ears vulnerable to whoever decided it was time to open their mouths.

It was, of course, Paragraph who decided to speak first.

“Do you really think you’ll be able to get anything more out of us, Verryk?”

_He’s trying to make it seem like there’s more we know, so we get tortured instead of killed. Nice one, kid. Except Herc knows what we know already, meaning he has to torture us and pretend to get that information out of us. Unless the ones who’ve seen his face recognized him already._

Mulligan leaned down an inch to address Paragraph. “I know I will.”

Paragraph smirked and Mulligan ignored him.

_Paragraph knows him. He was the other guy in his story about his brother. Don’t say anything, kid, and we’ll be alright._

To Laurens’ surprise, Paragraph didn’t say another word. He was silent. Laurens thanked him, but his focus was drawn back to Mulligan, who took three steps and approached Shield and Arty. He remembered them too.

_He was watching all of us with Reem when he was hunting for himself. He’s trying to send the message without saying anything. But even if we all figure out he’s the spy, especially the ones who never met him, how will it help? Unless Herc has a plan. No, he does. There must be something he’s planned. We just have to wait._

Mulligan leaned in and whispered something in Shield and Arty’s ears. Laurens tried to listen in, but he was too far and Mulligan was too quiet. The general, however, was not.

“He’s what?!” His shout reverberated through the area, despite there being nothing for the sound to ricochet off of.

Reem cringed at the sound, and everyone else flipped their gaze to the two.

“Sir,” Reem said, his voice strong, but soft. “The spy is dead. Verryk found out one of his hiding spots, and when I went undercover to investigate, I found the spy dressed as a redcoat among American soldiers. Verryk and I killed the soldiers, then we interrogated the man who we were sure was the spy. He confessed to everything, sir, at least, most of everything. What he wanted us to know before he took the rest to the grave.”

“To the grave? What do you mean to the grave?” The general’s voice had not lowered, and when he glanced around to see all eyes on him, including his two assistants. He glared at them until they left. Laurens assumed they moved far, far away.

Reem cleared his throat. “He killed himself, sir. Jumped from the building into the street. Messy clean-up, if I say so myself.”

The general’s glare stabbed at Reem, who quickly erased the humored smile from his face. The general crossed his arms. “So, who was he?”

Reem straightened his posture, appearing two inches taller in a matter of seconds. “Verryk and I found out his name was Mulligan. Hercules Mulligan. He matched the description Verryk found on him. White male in his twenties or thirties with blue eyes and dirty blond hair. It was clear he was lying the second he tried to give us some false name too. Something, Grey.”

The general furrowed his brows. “Grey? I recognize that name. That’s the name of the young soldier who sold John Laurens to us. That was the spy?” The general’s face clenched tight. “He was right under my nose. He was able to sneak into my camp and hand me, Laurens, making him appear the innocent man. Well, I’m glad he was put to justice. Even if by his own hand.”

Reem pursed his lips. “What do we do now, sir? Verryk and I. We’re no longer on the search for the spy, so can we go home or...?”

The general sighed. “You two have done more work than any other soldier under the crown. The war is over and your mission is completed. Yes, you are relieved from duty. Although, there is one more favor I must ask you two.” The general waved for Mulligan to return to his side like a mother with her child. “The spy is dead and these prisoners can’t give me any more information I would need even if they had it. It seems they are completely useless. Kill them.”

Mulligan blinked. Reem nodded. He turned to Mulligan, then huffed. “Let’s get this over with.”

Mulligan breathed. This was his only reply. The general found his seat and squatted down. He crossed one leg over the other and smiled. Mulligan turned to him.

“Some of these men are soldiers, sir. They don’t deserve a death standing up. Let me put them on their knees.”

The general chuckled. His brief laughter drew out long and heaving. He clutched his stomach and Laurens felt his own stomach churn. He kept his eyes on Mulligan and Reem. He trusted Mulligan, but what of Reem? Mulligan would find a way out of this, but would he be quick enough to stop Reem? He had to be. He was.

Finally, the general’s laughter subsided and his words reached night air. “Yes, Verryk. You’re right. They don’t deserve to be safe from humiliation.”

Mulligan and Reem approached the prisoners. Each pair of hands was lifted from the hook, the ropes around their waist reaching around the tree removed, and they were forced five steps forward and put on their knees. Laurens glanced at his friends to see a look of serenity on some and panic on others. Laurens was a mix of both. His heart pounded in his chest when Mulligan and Reem took their places behind the row of prisoners. He heard guns pulled from holsters. Reem carried one, Mulligan two. His eyes caught the general whose smile only widened.

Mulligan’s voice filled the air. “Reem, when I reach zero, fire.”

Reem tightened his grip on his revolver. He was ready.

“Three.”

Laurens hated countdowns. He knew Mulligan had no need for this, and somehow, he would save them, but how?

“Two.”

Their guns were pointed at a head each and would move to the next once they killed the first. There was no one around but the general. A gun being fired wouldn’t alert anyone, considering this would mean their deaths. They could escape if-

“One.”

If-

“Zero.”

Guns fired. Laurens’ eyes were shut at the sound banging through his eardrums. When he opened his eyes a moment later, he heard no other gunshot, except the gasp from a throat and a foot scraping against gravel. All senses were overrun when his vision activated though. In the chair in front of him was the general. There was a small hole in his chest and blood soaked through his clothes. Barely noticeable at first, until the crimson spread creating an ombre pushing outward. Laurens’ mouth fell open but shut quickly when he heard a voice behind him.

“Verryk, what have you done?”

Laurens twisted his head around to face Mulligan and Reem. Reem’s gun pointed at Mulligan, and Mulligan pointed his second gun back. The other was at his side. Most likely preparing for any possible intrusions. No, not possible. _Incoming_ intrusions.

“I can’t let these people die, Reem. I’ll do anything to stop that from happening.” Mulligan’s jaw was tight. His eyes held determination under flattened brows, but there was hope inside as well. Hope offered in form of pleading. Mulligan killed the general without a second thought, yet he hesitated on Reem. Why?

Reem’s brows were furrowed. He took another step back. His voice came out tattered and beaten. “You’re the spy, aren’t you? You’re Hercules Mulligan.”

Mulligan tightened his grip on the gun. With his other hand, he gestured to Laurens a message Laurens understood without any extra help.

Get everyone out of there.

Laurens turned to Riot and nodded. Her face was as confused as Relic, but when she saw the confidence on Laurens’ face she understood. Quickly, they moved off their knees and to the array of torture devices on the wooden table near the general’s chair. They needed to untie themselves and they needed to get it done fast. Laurens was the first to grab the knife. The knife was clenched between fingers and he used the aid of Riot’s helping hands to push down with blade to the rope to cut his binding. Once his hands were freed everyone else had their ropes undone in seconds.

Laurens turned to them. “Hercules will help us. The one that said he was Verryk, that’s my friend. We were soldiers together. He’s gonna get us out of here, but we need to find the place Riddle was talking about. We don’t have much time before someone decides to interrupt us. The general’s assistants could be back any minute.”

Riot opened her mouth to speak, but she stopped when she heard a crack in Reem’s voice and saw the gun shaking along with his hands.

“I considered you a friend,” he said, his breathing quick and heavy. “What am I supposed to do now? Just let you go?”

“Yes.” Mulligan swallowed, then dropped his gun to his side. He took a step forward and Reem kept his ground, gun still pointed at Mulligan’s forehead. “Just let us go. Just give us five minutes. Then come searching for us. Reem, I considered you a friend too. I still do, and I was never supposed to form attachments. I thought that would be easy because I would be working with redcoats, but I was wrong. You’re just following orders. We ended up on opposite sides, but we don’t have to stay that way. I understand you can’t betray your country, and I don’t expect you to. But just five minutes, Reem. For old time’s sake.”

Reem gritted his teeth. He adjusted his grip on the gun and Laurens noticed his finger move closer to the trigger. Laurens took a step forward, but no further when Reem grunted and dropped his gun to his side. Reem glanced at the prisoners, at Laurens, then turned back to Mulligan. His eyes were different. Like a dog about to be put down. Confused, but with enough understanding of the situation to know his future.

“Five minutes, Hercules.” Reem’s eyes locked onto Mulligan’s, then a small smile formed. Laurens didn’t detect a speck of malice, though. It was friendly and... playful. “Five minutes, then I’m coming after you. And don’t think I won’t find you this time.”

Mulligan matched the smile on Reem’s face. He winked, then turned to Laurens. “Hey, Laurens.”

“What?” Laurens asked.

“It’s time to leave.” Mulligan strode over, deleting the distance in three sailing steps. He addressed everyone. “I know where to go. We have to get to the river to the north. Grab whatever weapon you can find, follow me, and don’t die. Got it?”

Laurens turned to see the collective nods of Shield, Arty, Relic, Riot, and Paragraph. They looked a little hesitant, but mostly Laurens recognized their glimmering eyes and battle-stations-ready posture as a feeling rushing through him as well. A little bit of fear, and a lot of excitement. They were about to escape. And nothing ever sounded so sweet. 


	33. H. Mulligan

The plan was simple. Evade where you can, kill when you must. Hercules didn’t have time to change the circumstances or create a more foolproof, complex plan, so he had to use what he was given. His time was running out as he moved to the woods with Laurens and the other prisoners behind him. The night sky reflected in Hercules’ eyes like starlight in pools of deep water. Danger lurked in the motionless abyss. The same danger cast a sluggish fog in the air that only meant bad things to come.

Hercules held a gun in his hand and turned his head around to give a curt nod to his followers. He heard voices closing in around him, and he wasn’t about to stand still another moment longer. Reem caught Hercules’s eye as he stepped in front of him with a flat hand raised, palm forward. Hercules’ brows knit together. Was Reem already going to turn them in? Had the five minutes ended already?

“Stop,” Reem said, a tired sigh curling out of his lips. “You’re going about this all wrong.”

Voices inched closer along with footsteps and trigger fingers.

“I don’t have time for a better plan, Reem. If you want to say something, say it.”

Reem let his palm fall flat on Hercules’ shoulder. “There’s an easier way to get out of this. Besides, my five minutes isn’t up yet. I’ll help you, but I don’t have time to explain it because the general’s two assistants are on their way back. Tie the prisoners up again, put their weapons back, and follow my lead. Easy.”

Hercules nodded but felt another hand clutch his shoulder. This time, from behind. Hercules whirled around and found Laurens’ distrust in every feature.

“Is this really a good idea? He almost shot you a second ago.”

Hercules tilted his head, reflecting on the gun in his face only moments before. He exhaled through his nose, then reigned his focus in on Laurens. “I don’t think he’ll betray me now. Not when he’s about to put all of our lives on the line. He’s not like the other redcoats, Laurens. He won’t get us killed. Well, not yet.”

Laurens didn’t seem to cheer up at Hercules’ pep talk, so Hercules patted Laurens on the shoulder and smiled. Hercules knew that wouldn’t help either, but at least he could say he tried.

In the seconds Hercules had left, he grabbed a handful of rope from the table of returned torture devices and jogged to the prisoners. None of them seemed to want to follow Reem’s word either, but they trusted Hercules and that was enough. Once they were tied again, Hercules lined them up on their knees. Reem dropped by his side as he loaded a second pistol.

“Get them on their feet,” Reem said, not caring to lift his head to address anyone directly.

Hercules faced the group and nodded. There was a pointed look on their faces, all except for Laurens and the small boy next to him. Hercules cracked his knuckles and waited until they rose to their feet. He glanced at Reem, who finished tending to his gun, and faced Hercules with a smile.

“Now, we wait.”

Hercules rolled his eyes but kept his pistol out as Reem did. Reem pointed his gun at the prisoners, specifically the man with the codename of Shield. Hercules lifted his gun and pointed at Laurens. The glare on Laurens’ face was a passing joy Hercules was glad to see. Almost like old times.

The voices approached until they were just out of view of Hercules and Reem. Hercules’ skin crawled as he waited. He didn’t like waiting. Especially when the plan was in the hands of Reem, a bit of an inconsistent, slightly insane individual.

In the last second before Reem’s plan was put into action, Reem’s eyes flew to Hercules’ and he winked. Already, Hercules hated the plan.

“What is this?!” A voice yelled. Except, it wasn’t the voice of one of the assistants but a third Hercules and Reem had not accounted for. The General.

Hercules and Reem’s faces were flat and emotionless. Their body language reeked of “I’ve been caught off-guard" with a dash of “But, then again, I’m always prepared.”

Hercules waited once more knowing Reem would have no issue explaining whatever situation he chose.

“This?” He asked, his lips a straight line parallel to his brows. “This is the result of poorly constrained prisoners and a new problem.”

The general’s two assistants stood at the General’s side. All eyes honed in on their dead general. Unlucky guy.

The General ripped his gaze away from the corpse first and planted it on Reem. “New problem? I think the problem is our dead general! Explain yourselves!”

Reem dropped his pistol-bearing hand to his side and turned to face the General.

“One of the prisoners,” he lifted his hand once more to point to Shield. “That one. Had his ties a little loose. He was able to grab Verryk’s pistol and get a kill shot on the general.” Reem patted the second gun at his waist. “I was able to get a handle on the situation before it got further out of hand. And now, Verryk and I are trying to think about a way to take care of these prisoners since a simple execution just doesn’t seem to fit anymore.”

The General’s lips parted like food was on the way. Hercules wished he would respond faster, and let them get out of this situation, but that felt like too much to ask.

The General stepped over the general’s corpse and stood in front of Hercules.

“Verryk, is it?” He peered upward at Hercules as he stroked his chin. “The general spoke so highly of you, and yet you were able to be taken advantage of by an old man? Were you distracted because you couldn’t seem to focus on the mission the general gave you or were you too weak to counteract what must have been an obvious attack?”

_I could kill you so easily right now._

“Honestly, General? I’d have to say both. I’ve never been as good as the general said.”

Reem stifled a laugh behind his fist. The amusement in his eyes mimicked Hercules’ who held the beginnings of a smile on his lips.

The General was, of course, lacking in humor. “Is this supposed to be funny, soldier? The general is dead and it is your fault. If you can’t be trusted to kill a few prisoners, then the job will fall on me. You are relieved. Leave me to clean up your mess.”

Hercules raised a brow, but Reem spoke first. “Now, now, sir. Verryk has issues with making ill-timed and very inappropriate jokes, so don’t mind him. It was a mistake, and a big one at that, but considering you don’t have any real power over us, we’ll finish the job how we choose. I’m itching to get a bit of revenge-killing in, so leave us to clean up our mess, won’t you?”

The General clenched his jaw. “You have a plan, then? A worthy death for these miscreants?”

“Yes, General, we do.” Reem crossed his arms, keeping the pistol in his hand. “We’ve decided to take them to the river rapids and throw them in. Just in case they plan on surviving, we’ll tie weights to their ankles to keep them under. Shouldn’t take us too long.”

The General mirrored Reem’s crossed arms and hummed. After a few moments, a smile formed on his lips. “A fitting death. Well, considering how long I’ve spent with them, you wouldn’t mind letting me tag along, would you? I wouldn’t want to miss the show.”

Hercules’ eyes flitted to Reem. _This better be a part of your plan._

Reem unfolded his arms and waved the General over to his side. “Of course, General. I might even let you do the honors on a few of them.”

The General stepped closer to Reem. “And, of course, my assistants too. I wouldn’t want to leave them out of this either.”

Reem shrugged his shoulders. “As long as they don’t mind the mile walk, I don’t see an issue. We should head over now though. I plan to sleep sometime.”

The General nodded then turned to his assistants. His whispered words were too quiet for Hercules to pick up. One of the assistants smirked, then turned around and left. The General twisted to face Reem.

“Seems he’s not up for the journey. We’re ready though. You lead, we follow.”

Hercules bent down to the first prisoner he saw, Laurens, standing at the back of the line, and pushed him forward causing all others to stumble forward as well. They were smart enough to start the mile without protesting against Hercules’ choice of hostility. Hopefully, they were smart enough to survive a fall into a river too, or whatever Reem had planned.

Hercules stood at the back of the line, while Reem fell in by the side, and the General and one of his assistants took the front. Despite their vulnerability, they were cocky enough to think the prisoners would make no moves against them. Hercules hated to admit they were right to think that way. None of them would make a move. It didn’t matter how vulnerable their enemies were, they wouldn’t risk their lives over a chance like this. At least not when the camp was only a few hundred feet behind them.

As they passed through the dense wood, covered by mist and the dark of night, the only sounds heard came from rustling leaves and small creatures who would do best if they ran away from the scene. Hercules held his hands by his sides in a far too rigid stance as he walked. He wasn’t sure what to do. Laurens and the rest of the prisoners strode in front of him, hands bound and heads down or forward as anxiety leaked from their pores. Hercules wished Reem would have presented his plan much earlier before the time ran out and Hercules became clueless. He had to find some way to get the information from Reem before they reached the rapids, but he wasn’t sure how to pull off this feat. Most likely, sound would be required. How could he know Reem’s plan without Reem telling him and how could he get Reem’s attention without gaining the General and his assistant’s attention?

There was a rock. A few paces ahead on the ground with nowhere to go. Except, Hercules knew where it would go. Right in his hand the second he passed and flung at the back of Reem’s bobbing head. The steps Hercules made progressed his plan further and further. It was at Shield’s feet, then Arty’s, and Laurens’-

 _Clunk._ Laurens’ foot nicked the rock and it went flying into a clump of dark green bush.

“Shit,” Hercules mumbled. The second the curse left his mouth his eyes widened. He straightened his features by the time he lifted his head to see if anyone had heard him. And who better to hear than Reem. His head was twisted around as his eyebrow cocked and his chin jutted forward. Or backward, however, you want to look at it.

“What the hell?” Reem mouthed, scolding Hercules with quirked features. Briefly, Hercules glanced at the General and his assistant, glad to find they paid no attention to who stood behind them.

_They would make horrible spies. Actually, they make horrible soldiers._

Hercules kept the silent conversation going. “What’s your plan?”

As you also know, Hercules expected an answer, but what he received was so far off the requirement all he could do was scoff.

Reem shrugged his shoulders. “Don’t know yet. I’ll keep you posted.” And then he turned around and kept walking.

Next to pay attention to Hercules was Laurens. He twisted his head around and began a new soundless conversation. “Still think following him was a good idea?”

Hercules felt it would only cause more panic if he told the truth, so he lied. “Yup.”

Laurens rolled his eyes. “If we die, I’m blaming you.”

“Really? I was planning on blaming you if we died. Interesting.”

“Me? What I have done? If there was anyone to blame, it’s you because you decided to go spying everywhere and make like five different groups against the British just for most of them to get captured.”

“Exactly. Their fault for getting captured, just like you. Except you’re an aide de camp to Washington, so if anyone should have been able to escape this situation with ease, it would be you. So, it’s your fault.”

“Your fault, because you made the groups.”

“No, it’s your fault. I made groups because it was my job. I created them to get more information and to secure Washington’s intel. You came in and, well, tell me, Laurens. What went right when you got here?”

“You know what, Herc?”

“What?”

“When we get outta here, thanks to Reem and not you, I’m gonna-” Laurens smashed against Arty’s back, giving Hercules the time to stop without embarrassment. Arty turned around and gave Laurens a flash of a smile before facing forward. Hercules passed Laurens, who gave him a sharp glare and made his way to the front of the line where Reem stood.

The General twirled on his feet to drop his gaze upon Hercules. “Here we are, and here they are. Time to bring justice upon the dirt.”

Hercules didn’t reply, but Reem felt no qualm with speaking up. “Don’t you mean worms? I wouldn’t say they deserve to be placed anywhere above ground if you know what I mean.”

Reem nudged the General with his elbow, and the General pulled his arm back with a scowl. “Yes, I know. Now, didn’t you say something about tying weights to their feet? If we want to ensure their deaths, shouldn’t you get to it?”

Reem placed his hands on his hips and showered the earth with a smile so dazzling Hercules wondered if Laurens was still missing Alexander. Or if he still missed his wife.

As they stood at the edge of a cliff, with thunderous rapids below, Reem spun around and headed back into the clustered trees. Hercules stood with his back to Reem, and his front to the pitfall before the river. He risked a glance at Laurens who kneeled on the ground along with the rest of the prisoners. Prisoners, protestors, soldiers, and innocents. Innocent enough to be undeserving of death, at least.

The General approached Hercules. His hands found promise on Hercules’ shoulder, but Hercules wished to break said promise. Break said hands, would be even better. The General hummed into Hercules’ ear. “Do you want to know something funny?” He said, the quiver of his throat making the hair at the back of Hercules’ neck to stand straight up.

Hercules shrugged the General’s hands off his shoulders, but the General returned them to their previous place.

“You trying to tell me a joke?”

“Aha, no.” The warmth of his breath on Hercules’ ear felt like the heat of a fever on its worst day. “No, I just wanted to let you know what I know.”

“I’m not gonna keep playing your game. Either tell me now or leave me alone.”

The General gasped, causing a sudden chill on the back of Hercules’ neck. “My, my, Verryk. How impatient you are. Don’t fret-”

“I wasn’t.”

“Because I will tell you.” The General leaned in closer. All of Hercules’ nerves shot to the sky. He wanted to run. He wanted to punch someone. He wanted to save his friends, and he wanted to make the General disappear. “I know about your little secret. And I know you won’t keep “playing my game” as you said, so I’ll just keep talking. I know you’re the spy. I know Laurens, Shield, Paragraph, Riot, Relic, and Art are all your accomplices. I know of your connections. I know everything, and-”

The General pressed a revolver to Hercules’ side. “And I know, there’s no way any of you are making it out of here alive.”

Hercules’ first thought was of Reem, their only way out, but as he turned to his fellow soldier, the General’s assistant pointed a gun at Reem as well. The prisoners were tied up too, and as the General had asked of Reem, their feet were bound and weighed down by stones. They were trapped. But they didn’t have to stay that way.

As the General and his assistant plucked the pistols from Hercules and Reem, Hercules’ eyes flew to Reem, and without any coordinating, both of them winked.

“What was that?” The General asked, a frown pulling at his mouth. “What, you still think you have the upper hand? Look at where you’re standing, Hercules. I have a gun and you don’t. There’s nothing you can do to save yourself or your precious friends.”

Hercules chuckled. “Ah, I guess you’re right. We have no chance of survival. Absolutely none.”

The General couldn’t seem to resist his curiosity. He must hate the idea of anyone getting one over on him. “So, what was the wink for? Just to make me think you were up to something or to distract me?”

Hercules’ eyes shot to the General’s. “Uh, yeah. We were trying to distract you.”

The General scoffed. “From what?”

Hercules gestured to the space behind the General with his chin. “From that.”

The General twisted his head around and in the split-second, he realized there was nothing there, Hercules landed a hammer and anvil blow to his jaw pummeling him into the ground. Reem capitalized on Hercules’ well-timed distraction by taking a palm-sized rock in his hand and smashing it into the assistant’s skull. He may have struck him a few more times than necessary, but the job was done. Hercules and Reem put their guns back in their possession, adding the arsenal of the General and the assistant to their collection.

Hercules held the extra gun in his hand, pointing it at the groaning General. While the General lied discombobulated and in pain, Hercules lifted his head to Laurens. Reem had stalked over to them and had already removed most of the stone and rope holding them back.

Laurens stood up, wringing his rope-burned wrists. “What next?”

Hercules glanced to the rest of the prisoners, no, soldiers, and then returned to Laurens. “Decide whether we’re killing him or not, and then make our way downstream. I know where to go from here-”

Rudely interrupting Hercules, was the General on the ground. His face filled with manic amusement and Hercules wished he could smash his face into the dirt.

“What?” Hercules growled.

The General attempted to contain his laughter as he spoke. “You really think it’s that easy? That I wouldn’t have prepared for this?”

The General needn’t finish his villain’s speech because the sound of doom in sprinting footsteps reached Hercules’ ears. Laurens and the rest surrounded Hercules and the General. They looked to him for instructions. The General continued to laugh, only worsening Hercules’ focus but before anyone could protest, or encourage, Reem strode over and put a bullet in the General’s head.

“Bit annoying, you know?” Reem said, shrugging his shoulders like all do after they murder someone.

Hercules shook off Reem’s nonchalant, killer aura, and turned to Laurens. “We’ve only got a minute or so before his reinforcements get here. Laurens, get everyone to safety. Go down to the river and once you reach a point where the water’s calm, cross over and head north. Just keep walking and you’ll reach a town. There’s an inn called “Your Second Home,” go there and find the room under the name Jones. You’ll be safe there until Reem and I come.”

Laurens shook his head. “No, I’m not leaving you here to fight a battle I’m a part of. I’m staying.” Laurens turned to Riot. “Riot, you heard what Hercules said. Get everyone to safety.”

Riot nodded. “No problem, Angel.”

Hercules’ brows shot up. “Angel? No, anyway, you’re not staying Laurens. You’ve been hurt too much already. Reem and I got this.”

Laurens grabbed the pistol tucked into Hercules’ pants in the blink of an eye. He began to acquaint himself with the weapon so foreign in his hands after such a long time. “Go ahead, Herc. Just try to make me go.” His eyes pierced Hercules with a fire Hercules could never hope to extinguish.

Hercules nodded then turned to Riot. “They’re almost here. Leave now, we’ll meet up with you later.”

Shield stepped up. “Wait, there are five guns and three of you. Art and I are soldiers, we know how to shoot. We can help. This is our battle too.” Shield patted his hand on Arty’s shoulder, earning a stern nod from Arty.

Hercules took a step toward Shield. “I know you can help and I know how much you want to, but I’m not letting anyone else put themselves in danger. You and Arty have been prisoners for too long, and I’m the one who caused that. I can’t be the cause of your death too. Let me fix this. Let me make it up to you.”

Shield opened his mouth to speak, but Arty placed a hand on his shoulder and that was enough. He turned to Riot and gave her a nod before falling behind her. Without another word, Riot spun around, lifted the trembling Relic onto her back, and led her troop to safety. At least, Hercules hoped as much. Once they were out of view, Hercules bumped shoulders with Reem. “You’ve got three guns and two hands. Give me one.”

Reem huffed as he passed a revolver into Hercules’ outstretched hand. “You could do with some manners.”

Laurens laughed. “That’s what I said.”

Hercules rolled his eyes, checked his guns, and rested both in his hands. Before they could move to more secure positions, Laurens, Reem, and Hercules were surrounded by six redcoats with six guns. Shame it wasn’t seven or they might have had some luck.

All guns were pointed at each other in precise lines. The redcoat at the middle right stepped forward. His gun was pointed at Hercules. His eyes, however, were pointed at the dead assistant behind him, then the dead General to his right. Once he decided Hercules was his next view, his eyes boiled blue.

“You killed them,” he said, a snarl stuck between his teeth.

Hercules nodded. “We did.”

The redcoat stepped closer as he adjusted his gun hand's grip. “Are you ready to die, soldier?”

Hercules focused on the bullseye on the man’s forehead. “Are you?”

Hercules didn’t know who started the shooting and he didn’t care. The redcoat before him fell to the ground, victim to his trigger finger. Reem, Laurens, and Hercules dove to the left or the right and out of their enemies’ line of fire. As they dove, they pulled the trigger as many times as they could, hoping each shot landed exactly where it was planned. When the red flash of uniform filled Hercules’ eyes as he hit the ground, he heard groans of pain all around him. Some made no sound, thanks to efficient gunpowder and shot.

When Hercules’ vision cleared, no one stood. A few redcoats were still alive, but harboring fatal wounds, and when Hercules looked to Reem and Laurens they were grimacing, but they didn’t seem to be dying.

“You alright?” Hercules called out, rising to his feet.

“Yeah, got a bullet in my shoulder though, nothing too bad.” Reem stood next to Hercules, then strode over to any redcoats clinging to life by a thread and cut it. His scissors looked strangely like guns.

Laurens fell in by Hercules’ side. “Dodged all my bullets, what about you?”

Hercules turned to him and opened his mouth, but no words came out when Laurens’ eyes widened. “Herc, your ear!”

Hercules lifted his hands and patted his ear. His right hand came back with blood. “Oh, shit.”

Laurens stifled a laugh. “That hurt?”

“Shut up, Laurens.”

Reem sidled up next to Hercules. “Anyone up for pancakes?”

Laurens and Hercules furrowed their brows.

“What?” Laurens asked, confounded at the thought of pancakes.

Reem pursed his lips. “You know, the whole “second home” inn. I just thought we’d be heading there now and maybe we could get some food when we arrive. Pancakes are definitely at the top of my list.”

Hercules raised a brow at Laurens. “Remind you of anyone?”

Laurens smirked. “Can you imagine how excited he’d be if he ever got to meet Reem?”

“Absolute chaos.”

“Oh, yeah.”

Reem huffed. “Are you two going to keep talking as if I’m not here, or are we going to get some pancakes?”

Hercules groaned. “First, we gotta take care of all these bodies, then wrap up your shoulder, and then we can get pancakes.”

Laurens crossed his arms. “I can’t believe you’re thinking about pancakes right now.”

Reem put a hand to his heart. “Are you telling me you don’t want pancakes?”

“That’s the problem,” Laurens said. “Now I do, but I can’t do anything about it. I was already tired but now I’m hungry.”

Reem sighed as Hercules tended to the wound on his shoulder. “I’m sorry, Laurens. I guess I was being selfish. I should have thought about how my words would affect others.”

Hercules slapped Reem upside the head. “Ow.” Reem rubbed his second wound. “That was mean.”

“Yeah, Herc,” Laurens said, a smile growing. “Apologize.”

“I’m gonna leave you here, Laurens.”

“You can try.”

“Come on, let’s just take care of these bodies. Pancakes will heal a sour mood.”

Because of Reem’s injury, Hercules and Laurens did most of the work. They dragged each body to the cliff, then threw them into the water.

Reem clapped his hands. “So, we’re done?”

 _Boom, boom, boom_. The same sound warning them of the redcoats earlier filtered through the air.

Hercules’ hands flew to his reloaded revolvers. All three pulled two pistols from their breeches, some stolen from dead redcoats, and prepared for a shootout.

“Again?” Reem said, his head tilting back. “I thought we were done with fighting.”

Hercules shrugged. “Fighting’s never over for people like us.”

The footsteps became louder and louder. If the redcoats sounded like thunder when they approached before, this group sounded like an earthquake, a tornado, a tsunami, and an avalanche all rolled into one. There were too many. And no amount of dual-wielding could save them now.

Hercules turned to Laurens and Reem, a knowing look on both their faces.

_We aren’t gonna make it out of this._

Hercules rolled his shoulders and prepared for the disaster to come, but his line of sight was blocked. Reem stood in front of him and Laurens with a small smile on his face. “You know what needs to happen.”

Hercules furrowed his brows, and when the realization hit, they flattened. “No. We’re not leaving you here. We’re gonna fight together and you’re gonna be with us when we escape. This isn’t a discussion.”

Reem put a hand on Hercules’ shoulder. His eyes softened like plush pillows. “You’re right. It’s not a discussion, it’s an order. You know just as well as I do, how many British soldiers are on their way. If we stay and fight, we die. If one of us stays, at least it’ll give the other two more time to escape. We don’t have time to go back and forth, Hercules. I’m staying and you two are going.”

Laurens pushed forward. “Stop talking like that. It’s either all of us stay or all of us go. We’re not leaving you behind just to save ourselves.”

Reem laughed. “Laurens, I’m glad I met you. But you have to understand, I can’t die with you knowing I could have stopped your deaths from happening. Out of all of us, I need to escape the least. Besides, I can just make up some excuse that makes it sound like I’m still on their side. Easy peasy.”

Hercules knew that would never work. First of all, Reem wasn’t a very good liar. Case and point, the General finding out about their plans as if he was looking for a sock in his sock drawer. Second, the situation is too obvious. And third, when they find out Reem’s lying, they’ll kill him.

“Reem, you can’t-”

“Listen to me!” Reem grabbed Hercules’ shoulders and shook them. The desperation in his eyes turned to liquid begging to fall on his cheeks. “I have to save you, it’s the only way. I have to know that I did something for someone else, finally. I need to know that I wasn’t on the wrong side my entire life. Let me do this, Hercules. Let me be better than I am.”

“Reem-”

“Please, Hercules, please.”

Hercules opened his mouth, but no words came out. How could he deny his friend his final wish? If he didn’t let Reem do this, he would be sending all of them to the grave instead of... instead of just Reem. Hercules hated to admit how much he’d grown to care for Reem. His enemy had become his friend. He should never have become attached and yet he did. The bond they shared wasn’t a lie, even though Reem never knew of Hercules’ real identity until now. And when he knew, he was able to push that aside and remember who they had become together. They weren’t just friends after that, but brothers. And now he had to condemn his brother to death.

Hercules held his two pistols in hand, then shoved them in front of Reem.

Reem quirked a brow. “You expect me to grow arms?”

“Idiot. I expect you to put them in the back of your pants when you run out of bullets from your other guns.”

Reem smiled. When Hercules was caught in the rays of his grin, a new sun had erupted into existence. The connection between them was a thread and his smile pulled it taut. Hercules couldn’t bear to see when the thread snapped. He turned around and began to walk away, but a pair of arms wrapped around him and held him tight.

“You think I’d let you leave without a proper goodbye? Come on, Herc, you know I’m not like that.” Hercules turned around in Reem’s embrace and wrapped his arms around Reem’s waist. He felt condensation of his shoulder where Reem’s head was buried. He hoped Reem didn’t feel the same on his shoulder.

A few seconds passed before the footsteps like giants with mountains for legs sounded at a much higher volume. They didn’t have any more time.

Hercules pulled away and wiped at his eyes. Reem did the same and glanced at Laurens before pulling him into a quick hug then turning his body to the woods and his head to Hercules. “You’ll visit me, won’t you?”

Hercules and Laurens turned to leave. “Where?” Hercules asked. “Heaven or hell?”

Reem smirked. “Heaven’s not ready for me, Hercules. It’ll have to be hell.”

Hercules turned around, but not before a shot rang through the air and lodged into his gut. Laurens was at his side, holding him as he stood in shock, and Reem began to run over but another bullet whistled through the air and hurtled through Reem’s leg, sending him to the ground. For Hercules, time slowed making seconds feel like hours. He watched the panic on Reem’s face explode into terrorized focus like a lion protecting its cubs. He drew his pistols and started firing one shot after the other, faster than the speed of sound. But Hercules couldn’t hear the shots anymore, or the yelling of approaching redcoats, or the desperate cries from Laurens in his ear. He only saw what was happening. They weren’t in the cover of the forest but plain sight. Hercules understood their only option, right as Laurens put that thought into action. The time to register what Laurens had done did not exist until Hercules saw the last glimpse of Reem’s determined face, the rocks jutting out of the cliff, and the surface of the water.

The second his senses came back to him was the same second he turned around, thrashing in the rapids, searching for Laurens above the raging water, and greeted a very large rock that he just so happened to smash his head onto. Spots filled his vision until artificial night overcame him and sent him underwater into the jaws of an angry river. 


End file.
